


She Shouldn't Be Wearing White and He Can't Afford No Ring

by ChasingRabbits



Series: Rock 'n' Roll Queer Bar [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bachelorette Party, Barebacking, Bi-Erasure, Bisexual Dean, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Drug Use, F/M, Fluid Sexuality, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Shower Sex, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Stoner Castiel, Top Castiel, Wall Sex, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingRabbits/pseuds/ChasingRabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Jess are getting married! </p><p>While Dean is happy for his little brother, he has zero interest in weddings and marriage, and zero tolerance for the people who attend them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: It's All Going to be Fine

**Author's Note:**

> The title takes it's name from the song "White Trash Wedding" by The Dixie Chicks

_Jessica Moore and Samuel Winchester_

_i_ _nvite you to share in joyous celebration as_

_they exchange their vows and begin their_

_new life together on Saturday, the fourteenth_

_of June at six o’clock in the evening at_

_The Clubhouse at Boundary Oak_

_in Walnut Creek, California._

“What?” asks Cas. “What’s that face you’re making?”

“There is an unholy amount of douchebaggery rolling off this,” Dean tosses the thick cardstock down onto the counter. “I already need a drink, Jesus Christ.”

Cas and Gabriel sit draped over the couch, their videogame paused on the TV as they peer back at Dean. He grabs a beer out of the fridge and comes to lean on the back of the couch.

He gives Cas a quick peck on the lips and stares intently at the TV screen.

“They’re too young, right?” he finally says. “They shouldn’t be getting married. They’re kids, for fuck’s sake.”

“Says the man who’s been shacked up with the same guy for nine years,” Gabriel snorts. Dean smacks him upside the head.

“Dean, I know you’re anti-marriage—”

“Damn straight.”

“Said no one about you, ever— _OW_!”

“—but you’re not anti-Sam. I’d go so far as to say you’re pro-Sam, and pro-Sam supports Sam and Jessica doing what makes them happy.”

Dean groans and tips back a little too much beer in one sip.

“You’re being very childish for a man who just turned thirty not too long ago,” Cas settles back into the couch and resumes the game.

“Grand Theft Auto?” Dean laughs. “But _I’m_ the one being childish, okay.”

“There’s nothing childish about beating up stray citizens for their cash,” says Gabriel. “And hey, if you put in this one cheat, look—“

He grabs the controller from Cas, does a bit of finagling, and suddenly a helicopter appears on the street.

“You’re airborne now, biatch,” Gabriel lets out a triumphant little ‘woop!’

“All right,” Dean stands upright, “Where’s the R.S.V.P card, I’ll drop it in the mail tomorrow.”

“I took care of it,” Cas replies. “This afternoon, right after it came.”

Dean groans, downs the rest of his beer, and announces that he’ll be going to bed early.

“Hey,” Cas calls after him. “You just got home.”

“Yes I did,” Dean calls back. “Very observant.”

He slams their door shut behind him and flops face first onto the bed. Sam is happy, and Dean is really happy that he’s happy, and of course he’s going to the wedding, that was never really a question. It’s just—

Dean doesn’t like weddings.

There.

The door opens and shuts softly, and Cas asks in that deep, soothing, yoga instructor voice, “Are you okay, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean grumbles. “Just tired. Had to boot out a couple of rowdy kids tonight, s’not as easy as it used to be.”

Cas hums and sits beside him on the bed, resting an open palm between his shoulder blades.

“You knew they were getting married,” says Cas. “How are you in the least bit surprised?”

“I’m not,” Dean rolls over. “It’s just weird that it’s happening. I knew he’d always get married before I did, but…”

He doesn’t have anything to add, he realizes, and looks up at Cas. The blue in his hair has almost completely faded to washed up yellow-green, his dark brown roots bleeding out from his scalp.

“What?” asks Cas.

“You’re handsome,” Dean sniffs and shuts his eyes. “Ain’t fair.”

Cas hums and lays his hand on the little swell of belly that’s only getting bigger and bigger _(“It’s no bigger or smaller than it’s ever been, Dean.”)_. Soon he’s gonna have a massive gut hanging over the top of his jeans _(“You will not, Dean, now will you just get in the shower?”)_. He’ll have to get a shirt eight sizes too big so it can fit over his massive spare tire and tuck back into his pants. _Ugh_.

“I would’ve thought that by now you’d have realized that pouting about your tummy doesn’t burn enough calories to make a difference,” Cas pushes his hand up Dean’s t-shirt and rubs his and in slow, soothing circles. “Not that I think it needs fixing, because it doesn’t.”

Dean moans and arches up into Cas’ touch, stretching the last of the tension out of his body.

“It’s just one wedding,” says Cas. “You can come down off of your soapbox long enough to see your brother get married.”

“It’s weird, okay,” Dean opens his eyes. “It’s a weird concept, this thing like people own each other. You’re legally one entity, together. Tell me that’s not creepy as shit.”

“I hate to break it to you, but Gabriel was right,” Cas lets out a laugh. “Short of a ring and a few documents, you’ve been married to me going on ten years. What’s the difference?”

“I don’t know,” Dean sits up. “’cause we didn’t have a wedding, or a fuckin’ _… commitment ceremony_ or whatever the hell. Weddings are just stupid and pointless, I don’t fucking get it. I never have and I never will.”

Cas takes a deep breath and brings his hand up to rest on Dean’s cheek. He says, “Well, at least I know it’s only the institution that offends you and not me.”

“Shut up,” Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ shoulders and pulls him into a kiss. He draws back and bows their heads together, letting his breathing sync up with the steady rise and fall of Cas’ chest.

“Wow,” Cas hums after a few minutes. “You did that without me suggesting it.”

“If you tell anyone that I actually like some of your hippie-dippy breathing techniques, I’ll deny it… and divorce you.”

“You can’t divorce me,” Cas gives him a look.

“Exactly,” Dean takes in a nice, long breath. “No marriage, no divorce. Look at all the money we’ve saved.”

Cas snorts and shakes his head. “My advice? Let it go. Just forget about it for now, and when it comes time to deal with it, we’ll deal with it. Sound good?”

Dean takes another breath before he nods and says, “Sounds good.”

**oo**

The problem with _just forgetting about it_ is that whatever you’re trying to forget often sneaks up and bites you in the ass. Before Dean even realizes, it’s June, and suddenly he and Cas are running around, trying to take care of things before they have to leave.

Sam wants to be sure that they’ll be there by Friday, so they have to leave by Wednesday.

“I don’t understand why the hell you don’t just suck it up and fly,” Bobby gripes over the phone. “You flew out for his graduation last year.”

“Yeah, and I’m not making that mistake again,” says Dean. The majority of the plane ride both ways had been Dean white-knuckling his arm rests and trying to listen to Cas’ voice soothe him into complacency.

It did not work.

Given their luck with cross-country road trips, Cas spent a good amount of time trying to convince Dean to fly again, but fuck that. Dean would rather be in a car for twenty-three hours than on an airplane for four.

Plus, as he pointed out to Cas, you can’t take pot on an airplane, and Dean is more than sure that they’re both going to need it.

With Gabriel watching the house and Bobby meeting them in California, Cas and Dean make the great trip out west all by themselves. Cas is at least more comfortable driving now; between the two of them, they make it to Walnut Creek without having to stop for the night.

Walnut Creek is all rolling green oak-studded hills, quaint clean concrete buildings and blue skies. Dean has to admit, if you gotta get married somewhere, it might as well be some place nice like this.

It’s such a nice place that Motel 6 had the cheapest room they could book.

While Cas checks in, Dean pulls out his phone to call Sam.

“You guys are here already?” Sam marvels.

“Yeah,” Dean stifles a yawn against his hand. “Drove a straight shot.”

“Aren’t you guys tired?” asks Sam.

“What gave it away?” Dean yawns again.

“Well, Jess and I don’t check into our room until tomorrow,” Sam explains, “But we’re like twenty minutes away, we can come meet you guys and grab some dinner with you later.”

“Wait,” Dean leans against the stucco wall. “If you live twenty minutes away, then why are you getting a hotel for the weekend?”

“I don’t know, man,” Sam sighs. “Jess’ parents thought it would be nice, I guess? They’re doing so much already, we just kinda decided to go with it.”

“I thought you weren’t taking money from anyone, you guys were putting on this shindig yourselves.”

“Dude, I told you Jess’ parents stepped in at like, the last minute. The DIY wedding vibe was not jiving with them.”

“Who cares? They’re not getting married.”

“Yeah, but… okay, no judgment, but they’re kinda,” Sam sighs. “Rich.”

“Rich?” Dean raises his eyebrows. “Who the fuck is rich anymore? I thought that was just a thing in movies about orphans and crap.”

“Dude, their house is _ridiculous_ ,” Sam says. “First time her parents had me over for dinner, I nearly had a panic attack. And, like, her dad has a collection of old books, her mom has this grand piano that she and Jess can actually _play_.”

“I get it, I get it,” Dean interrupts. “You’re marrying into money, good for you. Thank god for dowries.”

“Ha-ha,” Dean can hear Sam’s eyes rolling from here. “I mean, they wanted Jess to have a nice wedding. I tried to talk ‘em out of it, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean nods.

“It’s gonna be fun,” Sam reassures, though for whose benefit Dean can’t be certain.

“If you say so,” says Dean. “But hey, after this you get to spend the rest of your life with someone you love. It ain’t a bad deal, little brother.”

“Right,” Sam agrees. “You guys rest, gimme a call tonight if you’re up for it. We can take you guys into San Francisco or something.”

“Sounds good,” says Dean as Cas comes out of the front doors and back into the warm California air. “Call you later.”

After a quick goodbye, Dean hangs up the phone and slides it back into his pocket. Cas pulls a plastic room key out of his pocket and hands it to Dean.

“Sam?”

“Yeah,” Dean yawns again. “I think this wedding might be a little fancier than we anticipated.”

“So I shouldn’t wear my flip-flops and macramé short,” Cas grins cheekily back at him.

Dean pulls him in by the front of his shirt and wraps his arms around him.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he confesses, nuzzling the part of Cas’ neck that always smells so nice. Cas rubs broad circles over his back and kisses the side of his head.

“Okay, I can’t carry you to the room,” he finally says. “Let’s go before you fall asleep on me.”

Dean hears himself mumble an agreement, but how he ends up in their room remains a mystery. He doesn’t remember walking here… maybe they teleported.

“You’re delirious,” Cas laughs as he slides up onto the bed. “Come here, nap with me.”

Dean complies, tucking himself up against Cas’ chest and reveling in the way they fit so snugly together.

“’m serious,” Dean yawns. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Cas mumbles. “Now shut up and sleep.”

Dean smiles, relief blooming through his core. All this time he spent uselessly worrying about this weekend when he should have known that it would be okay, because Cas would be with him. Because Cas is always with him, making everything in life just a little more bearable.

Dean looks down at where Cas’ left hand rests against the flat plane of his stomach and laces their fingers together.

 _There._ Now he can fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

Castiel has been to the Bay Area a couple of times. Lucifer and Lilith live just north of there in Santa Rosa, so it was a given on family trips up north that they would make a stop in San Francisco. He’s been to the tourist spots, but that’s it. Tourist spots don’t include places like The Sausage Factory, a pizza joint that is right across the street from a place called Rock Hard, which advertises _erotic art_.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean sighs through his first bite of pizza.

“Good, right?” Sam smiles.

“Fuck, this is borderline sexual right here,” Dean nods.

Jessica laughs into her veggie pizza, which even Dean admitted looks delicious, while Sam gives a fond roll of his eyes and continues eating his salad.

“We’ve been eating truck stop food for the last few days,” Castiel explains. “This is nothing short of divine, so thank you.”

“I’m just glad you guys are here,” Jess beams. “You weren’t here long enough last summer; we hardly got to spend any time with you.”

“God knows this is our last chance before everyone else descends upon us,” Sam slides his salad plate to the side and removes the bun from his chicken sandwich, opting instead to eat it with a knife and fork.

“Sam, for the last time, you’re worrying about nothing,” Jess sighs.

“Whoa, what’s up?” Dean swallows and even puts down his slice of pizza, poised to listen.

“Oh, he’s just worried about meeting the rest of my family,” Jess waves it off.

“Yeah, because that’s like three quarters of the guest list!” Sam exclaims. “Beach wedding, isn’t that what I said?” He looks to Dean for confirmation, but Dean neither confirms nor denies that he’s ever heard anything about this. “I wanted a simple thing, twenty guests—“

“So did I,” Jess reminds him.

Sam deflates at her tone, far off and vaguely disappointed, and mutters, “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s going to be fine,”Jess runs her fingernails softly over the back of Sam’s neck. “Trust me. It’s one weekend, and then we’re married. We can do this, okay?”

Sam nods and takes a deep breath.

Dean looks over at Cas for a brief moment before he says, “And, y’know, if you need a bail out, all you gotta do is grab me or Cas and we’ll create a diversion. I got a shit-ass singing voice and no shame, Cas is a master of close-up magic… anything you need.”

Sam laughs and suddenly the tension shatters. There’s a light behind Dean’s eyes as they fall into their easy back-and-forth, one that Castiel hardly ever saw before that night Sam walked into the Roadhouse. It’s the same light that illuminates Gabriel’s eyes after he’s perfected a recipe, the same light Charlie gets in her eyes when they LARP in the summer, or in Jo’s eyes when she beats a mouthy customer at pool.

Pure, concentrated satisfaction.

When they finish eating, Jess suggests that a nice after dinner stroll will make everyone feel better.

That’s fine by Castiel, as he’s been stuck in a car for so long and couldn’t be happier to be out in the open. Plus, this is a part of the city he’s never seen, and Castiel is nothing if not eager to explore as much as he can.

They pass by a group of college-age kids each passing a joint between them, and Castiel takes a deep breath. Wow, that smells nice.

“Are they smoking pot?” asks Cas. “In public?”

“Oh yeah,” Jess nods. “No one cares up here. Everyone’s stoned out of their minds at least half the time.”

“No, don’t—“ Dean cuts himself off as soon as Cas pulls a joint out of his sweater pocket. “ _Seriously_? You had that locked and loaded.”

“We’re on vacation,” Cas shrugs and pulls out his Bic, lighting up. He takes a few deep inhales before he offers it to Dean.

For someone who so easily scorned him, he sure grabs the joint and puffs on it pretty fast.  

He offers, “Sammy? Jess?” and blows out a plume of smoke.

Jess takes it and rolls her eyes when Sam chides, “Jess!”

She holds it in longer than Cas or Dean, until there’s barely any smoke left when she exhales.

“Trust me, you need this more than any of us, buddy,” she hands it to him.

Sam takes it from her, turning up the puppy dog face as he inhales. He coughs, but tries to keep the smoke down for as long as he can.

He ends up blowing a lot of smoke out of his nostrils.

“Oh wow,” Sam makes a face. “That is unpleasant.”

“You’re such a baby,” Jess pets a hand over his hair and stands on her toes to kiss his cheek. “But I love you anyway.”

Between Castiel, Dean, and Jess, they finish half of the joint before Castiel puts it out and slips it back in his pocket. Soon Cas is feeling impossibly light, so much so that his hand floats right up into Dean’s.

 It’s a relief to be able to walk down the street and hold Dean’s hand whenever he pleases, without having to worry about disapproving glares and nasty comments, or even worse. They’re in a part of town that has rainbow flags hanging outside nearly every establishment, from the lamp posts and even from some people’s bikes as they cycle on by. For once, it’s nice to be in a place where a pair of queers walking down the street is, well… normal.

They walk and walk, because Sam refuses to drive anywhere until he’s completely sure that his high has worn off.

“I thought this was the kind that wasn’t supposed to make you paranoid,” says Dean.

“There’s no accounting for some people’s level of neurosis,” Cas shrugs. “Either you can be helped or you can’t.”

“Just like the Dalai Lama wrote it,” Dean nods.

“Hey, let’s go in here,” Jess calls from a couple steps behind them. Cas and Dean turn around, just in time to see her and Sam disappear into a shop, outside of which there is a dry erase sandwich board that reads, “ _Vintage Porn: Books, VHS, DVD, Magazines, Photos, Etc.”_

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Dean drops Cas’ hand and makes a bolt for the door, leaving Castiel howling with laughter as he tries to catch up.

Upstairs there’s a glut of porn, old and new, and a whole wall of toys and playthings of all kinds. Sam and Jess are down a ways, looking at cock rings from what Cas can see, and indeed there is a wide variety.

“Whoa, cut it out,” Sam whispers the second he sees Castiel.

“Oh, whatever,” Jess rolls her eyes and looks back, “Cas.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We like vibrating cock rings,” she says, and Sam flushes a deep shade of crimson.

Cas just shrugs and supplies, “Who doesn’t?”

“See?”

“Oh, god…”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean calls him over. Flipping through an old collection of photos, he holds up one in particular for Cas.

“… is that vintage rug munching?” he asks, taking the old black and white photo into his hand. “I know it had to have happened, but it’s so weird to think that our ancestors chowed down on pussy just like the rest of us.”

“Goddamned right it is,” Dean laughs. “This stuff is fuckin’ awesome.”

While Sam and Jessica have a much-too lengthy debate about cock rings, Cas wraps his arm around Dean’s shoulder and kisses him on the jaw.

“Having fun?” he asks.

Dean looks over at him, reluctance oozing off of him as he mutters, “Yeah.”

“Do you believe me now?” Cas presses. “This isn’t going to be horrible”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean sighs.

“Say it,” Cas nuzzles under his jaw, smiling when Dean’s pulse quickens.

“Dude, so immature.”

“Say it and I won’t have to spank you when we get back to our room.”

Dean chokes on his own spit and sets the book down. It’s a few moments before he’s able to say, “This isn’t going to be horrible.”

“There’s my good boy,” Cas reaches up and ruffles his hair. “I think that means you get a treat.”

He swats Dean on the ass and says, “Go pick out a toy, kiddo. You earned it.”

Dean’s eyes go dark, and that devious little smile of his curls into place. Sam’s level of mortification increases when he realizes that Dean is now also looking at toys, but Dean’s only response to this is to give him a friendly nod and a wink.

Castiel is pretty sure that both of the Winchester boys are in for one hell of a night.

**oo**

It’s the rest of that joint and multiple orgasms that knock them out; it’s the thick hotel curtains and the hum of the air conditioner that keeps them out until god knows when.

“What the fuck,” Dean mutters, rousing Castiel into consciousness as well.

“What?” Cas grunts into the crisp hotel pillow.

“’the fuck am I laying on,” Dean sits up. Cas opens his eyes just in time to see Dean pull their new toy, a vibrating butt plug, out from under the small of his back. “Jesus Christ, again?”

Cas snorts but buries his face back in his pillow.

“Hey,” Dean nudges him. “C’mon, it’s one o’clock, we only got a few hours before the _rehearsal ceremony_.”

Dean slides out of bed, displeasure palpable. What cheers him up happens to be the bane of Castiel’s existence—namely, whipping open the curtains and letting the early afternoon light beat down into their room.

“You’re an asshole,” Cas groans and pulls the covers up over his head. The sheets smell like hotel soap, fancy lube, and sex funk, a soothing though not ideal scent.

“Hey,” Dean crawls on top of him, voice muffled through the thick comforter. “Baby, c’mon.”

Castiel whines.

“Okay,” Dean sighs. “I’m gonna grab us some coffee. Then we gotta get up and shower. Deal?”

“You’re tacky and I hate you,” is the only response that comes to Castiel’s mind.

“Aw, c’mon,” Dean presses further against him. “You know movie references put fuel in my tank, that ain’t fair.”

“Get me coffee and I am open to discussion on the getting out of bed front.”

Dean shifts off of him, rustling around to get dressed.

“What do you want?”

“The biggest, blackest cup of coffee you can find,” Cas grunts back.

The door opens and shuts. Cas rolls over and curls into the vacant spot beside him, already lulling back to sleep in the quietude.  It doesn’t last, though, and soon Dean is back, whistling to himself as he pushes back into the room.

“Up and at ‘em, handsome,” Dean chirps and pulls the covers down and off of Castiel.

“God, _why are you like this_?” Cas groans.

“I was born this way, baby,” Dean smacks one of his bare cheeks. “C’mon, biggest, blackest cup of coffee I could find.”

Castiel sits up and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. Dean is dressed to impress in only his boxers and Castiel’s t-shirt, which is about a size too small on him. He’s got that look on his face, the one that screams ‘ _I got good and fucked last night’_.

They get about halfway through their burnt, watery vending machine coffee before Castiel finally stretches to greet the rest of the day.

Dean ushers him to the bathroom soon after, stripping off what little clothing he wears before he gets the shower going.

“You gonna re-do your hair before tomorrow?” asks Dean as they step under the weak spray of the shower head.

“I don’t know,” Cas yawns. “Should I?”

Dean shrugs, swishing a mouthful of water before he spits and replies, “Whatever you wanna do. I think you should style it like that guy we saw last night.”

“Oh, god,” Cas laughs and rinses his mouth out too.

“Mohawk would be a good look on you,” Dean teases, pulling Cas in close against him. “I’ll even shave down the sides for you.”

“Ass,” Cas chides, but smiles the entire way through the kiss Dean plants on his lips.

“Now that you mention it,” Dean mumbles against Cas’ mouth, hands trailing down from his shoulders and neck to the swell of his ass.

“I thought we were pressed for time,” Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s neck, nary an intention to stop in sight.

“Yeah, well, maybe I factored in a little extra time for shower nookie,” Dean grins.

“You still have energy after last night?” Cas grins, kissing over the sharp angle of Dean’s jaw and down the strong line of his neck.

“Hey, I’m still young and virile,” Dean grins and grabs Cas by the jaw, pulling him into another kiss. He threads his fingers through Cas’ hair and licks deep into his mouth. Cas whimpers deep in his throat, cock stirring with interest as Dean pushes him up against the tile.

Dean sinks his teeth into the juncture between Cas’ neck and shoulder, sucks a bruise right into the skin. Cas shudders a sigh and shifts so their chest and hips are flush. He can feel Dean getting hard against him, and however many years, however many nights together later, it still takes Castiel’s breath away.

They part just long enough for Dean to grab the crappy little hotel soap and start rubbing it into Cas’ skin. He knows just where to touch, just which parts of Cas to caress, to slip and slide over, knows just how to get Cas rock hard without even laying a hand on his cock.

Cas hiccups when Dean’s soapy hands come up and cup his balls, when his fingers slip behind them and in between his cheeks.

A groan tears out of Cas’ throat as Dean teases him, forcing him to conclude, “You’re diabolical.”

Dean grins, “Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

Cas whines and tries to thrust up into nothing.

“Payback for what?” he asks. “Making you come twice?”

“Try three times,” Dean barely pushes a fingertip into Cas’ hole before he pulls back again. Between frustrated grunts, Castiel manages to laugh, “Oh, yeah.”  

Hands tied behind his back and ass up in the air, Dean was at Cas’ mercy.

And Castiel is not merciful when it comes to seeing how many times he can get his boyfriend to come.

His giggles are cut short by Dean’s entire finger thrusting into him.  

“God, _fucker_ ,” Cas keens.

Dean takes back his finger and instead moves his soapy hand to wrap around both of their cocks.

Dean’s name escapes Castiel’s mouth on the tail end of a sigh, followed by dirty praises and pleas on his next breath.

“Dean, please,” Cas begs.

“Not now,” Dean presses kisses to his cheeks, under his eyes.

“Why not,” Cas grips fruitlessly at the tile wall behind him.

“’Cause I feel like fucking with you,” Dean barely pecks his lips.

Castiel writhes in his skin, Dean’s hand definitely not moving fast enough for the release he so desperately craves. Dean knows how much Cas loves this, knows how much he loves feeling Dean’s cock on his. It’s a world apart from being inside someone, a wonderfully different sensation that has Cas choking back ecstatic moans.

It’s so slow to build that Castiel is pretty sure it would have been easier to fuck him and get it over with. Instead Dean just strokes them steadily, bowing their heads together the closer and closer they get.

Cas comes first, fingernails digging into the meaty part of Dean’s shoulders as he bucks up into his fist, against the silky smooth slide of their hard dicks pressed together. He shoots so hard that it lands on his chest, and then pulses over Dean’s cock.

“Ah, _fuck_ ,” Dean’s hand speeds up, not letting go of Cas as he finishes himself off. Cas catches Dean as he pitches forward and hides his face in Cas’ neck.

Cas holds him for a few moments under the trickle of water showering down on them, reveling in the last of their alone time before they have to shut off the water, get dressed, and pretend to be sociable human beings for the rest of the day.

Down in the lobby, Castiel grabs Dean’s hand again—hey, if he can get away with showering Dean in affection, he’s going to do it. When Dean gives him a look, Cas wraps him up in a kiss and murmurs, “I love you”, like it’s some big secret that only the two of them are in on.

Dean smiles and kisses back before declaring, “I know.”

 

* * *

 

After having worked up quite an appetite, Dean and Cas stopped at a diner on the way to whatever the fuck place Sam is getting married at. Between the two of them they ate their combined weight in eggs, bacon, and potatoes, which accounts for why now they’re so groggy and poised to pop as they drag themselves out of the car and through the parking lot.

“I’m never eating again,” Cas holds his stomach. “You may have to roll me the rest of the way.”

It’s hot in the fading light of the afternoon, baking the grass and trees around them, releasing dust and pollen up into Dean’s nose.

He sneezes.

“Are you okay?” asks Cas.

“Fine,” Dean replies stuffily. “May have to pick up some Benadryl before tomorrow, though.”

He gathers his bearings and looks up from the asphalt below his feet. The wide open green, the strategically placed pond, the hordes of old white dudes travelling in packs…

“Is he getting married on a fucking golf course?” Dean asks.

“That appears to be the situation, yes,” Cas nods. “That’s unfortunate.”

What’s even more unfortunate is that Dean can see Sam from here. The Sam he knows wouldn’t be surrounded by a small group of guys on a golf course in the middle of the afternoon, but that’s definitely him, khakis, polo shirt and all.

“I’m gonna be sick,” says Dean.

“Wait, really?”

“He’s playing _golf_ , Cas,” Dean groans, and Cas takes a breath of relief. “You know who plays golf?”

“Douchewheels,” Cas replies just as Dean supplies the same answer.

Thank God for this man.

Dean sends Sam a quick text that they’ve arrived and that they’ll meet him in the… God, in _The Clubhouse._ Both he and Cas wrinkle their noses as they’re enveloped in the stale, musty smell of old building.

“This is worse than I thought,” Dean groans, and then sneezes again.

“Michael got married and had his reception at my parents’ yacht club,” Cas peers at the old photographs on the wall. “Not to pull focus from this, which is terrible. Just a reminder that at least it’s not that.”

“Thanks, Cas, real helpful.”

Cas doesn’t get to argue back before Sam steps into view, the group he was golfing with trailing close behind him. The Electro Douche-netic Frequency around them spikes at an all-time high, and Dean almost has to grab Cas’ hand and squeeze so he doesn’t totally offend anyone.

“Hey, good to see you guys,” Sam smiles. “You get a late start or something?”

“You dropped us off at the hotel at… two?” Dean guesses.

“Quarter ‘til then, maybe,” Cas agrees.

“And you know we didn’t go to sleep right away,” Dean finishes, and then polishes it off with a few vague hip thrusts.

So much for not offending anyone.

“Oh, _boy_ ,” Cas sighs from beside him.

“Right,” Sam frowns, “Well, this is my future father-in-law.”

Mr. Moore is a tall, slender man with tired eyes and a stiff spine. On top of what Dean now realizes is the golfing uniform of polo shirts and khakis, he wears special golf shoes.

 _Jesus_.

“This is my brother, Dean,” Sam introduces. “And his partner, Cas.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mr. Moore shakes Dean’s hand and then Cas’. “Sam speaks highly of you both.”

“Huh, that’s weird. He doesn’t usually lie.”

Cas’ thumb jabs into Dean’s lower back and hisses, “Cool it.”

Dean can’t help it. His pits are pouring sweat, his skin feels like it’s too tight. He’s got multiple sets of eyes on him, all with that same look to them. They all look at Dean and Cas like they were raised by wolves.

Only, no—they’d probably be fascinated by that. These are the faces of men who just found two big pieces of gum stuck to the soles of their fancy golf shoes.

“Uh, so this is my best man, Brady,” Sam introduces a square-jawed, broad-shouldered young guy with a tidy haircut. “He actually introduced me to Jess.”   

Dean shakes his hand, as does Cas.

“Interesting hair,” Brady comments lightly to Cas. “Bet that’s the first time they’ve seen that kind of thing in this place.”

Cas’ hand flies up to the back of his head, grabbing handfuls of the frayed green-blonde ends.

“And this is Jeffrey,” says Sam, indicating a rather unfortunate-faced, impeccably dressed young man on his other side. “Met our first year of law school. And that’s his partner, Geoffrey.”

Dean goes perfectly still, because if he moves even a millimeter, he’s going to piss himself with laughter.

“You’re both named Jeffrey?” Cas asks for the both of them.

“ _Geoffrey_ ,” the second Jeff corrects, and Dean accidentally lets a snort slip.

Cas jabs him again and he has to apologize, “Sorry, my allergies are all fucked up.”

“Right, well, we’re gonna go get ready for the rehearsal ceremony,” Sam interjects. “I’ll meet you guys in there, could you give me a second?”

The four other men nod and presumably head toward wherever the ceremony is going to go down. Dean really hopes it’s not out on the golf course.

“Dude,” Sam’s eyebrows go up as soon as the three of them are alone.

“Don’t ‘ _dude’_ me! ‘ _Dude’_ , you!”

“Is there a filter up there, anywhere?” asks Sam. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know, man!” Dean inches back toward Cas. “I panicked.”

“Then panic like a normal person!” Sam snaps back. “I’m already fucked enough, please don’t make it worse.”

The accusation cuts fast and deep. He didn’t mean to do anything like that, he’s just nervous, like Sam is nervous. Yeah, he could stand to be a little more put together, but making Sam’s weekend worse? He wouldn’t do that. He’d never want to do that.

“Sam, forgive me,” Cas steps ever so slightly in front of Dean, “But if you speak to him like that one more time this weekend, Jessica’s _something blue_ will be the matching bruises on your eyes.”

“But—“

“No one is trying to make this worse for anyone else,” Cas continues pointedly. “Sam, the only reason Dean is here is because he loves you, and he knows how happy that you are with Jess. Dean,” he turns to him, “You’re never going to see any of these people again. Relax.”

“Yeah—“

“One more time, Sam,” Cas warns. “One more time and you’re getting a fist to the face. You both need to _relax_. It’s just one weekend. On Monday morning, you know where we’ll be? You and Jess will be on your honeymoon; you and I will be on our way back home. Seventy-two hours from now this will all be a memory.”

“Cas—“ Dean now attempts to interrupt, but Cas continues,

“Now, as you Winchesters like to say, nut the fuck up, bunker down, and get the hell over it.”

It’s not often that Cas makes the leap from easy-going stoner to justifiably terrifying, but when he does Dean knows better than to defy him.

“Fine,” he concedes. “I’m not golfing, though.”

“Good,” Sam sighs and un-tucks his shirt. “It’s boring as hell anyway. Jess’ dad said I have to learn how if I ever want to be successful.”

“Who the hell is successful because of golf?” asks Dean

“Apparently it’s more of a schmoozing thing,” Sam combs his fingers through his hair. “Do I look okay?”

“About as okay as a Sasquatch that decided it was time to start learning golf,” Dean nods. Sam flips him off, but it’s accompanied by a smile.

Sam heads out to the deck, where employees of the clubhouse are setting up chairs and the archway for tomorrow’s nuptials.  

Dean takes a breath and leans back against Cas.

“It’s gonna be fine, right?”

“It’s gonna be fine,” Cas confirms, and presses a kiss to the base of his neck.

And because it’s Cas, and Cas would never lie to Dean, he has no choice but to believe him.

**oo**

In all his life, Dean has never been so happy to see his Uncle Bobby.

“Jeez,” Bobby gives Dean a pat on the back, remaining still otherwise under Dean’s hug. “You’d think you’d never seen an old man before.”

“It’s been hellish, Bobby,” Dean says. “Real fuckin’ hellish.”

“Where’s Cas?”

Dean pulls away and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “He went to Walgreens to grab me some allergy meds. Fuckin’ shit’s drivin’ me crazy out here.”

“Y’don’t say,” Bobby shoves his hands into his vest pockets. At least now Dean and Cas aren’t the only ones here dressed like normal-ass people. Okay, so Dean probably should’ve dressed a little nicer for the rehearsal dinner, but he’s only got one shirt that won’t make him look like a damned heathen and he’s saving that for the ceremony tomorrow. Plus, they’re at a friggin’ brewery, so it should really be everyone else that feels like a dick for dressing up so nice.

Needless to say, Dean’s already made a pit stop at the bar—two actually. He’s halfway through his second beer already, and Cas has only been gone for half an hour.

“Have you met any of these people?” asks Dean, sniffing back what’s left of his sanity.

“Most of ‘em, yeah,” Bobby nods, surveying the guests. “Kind of a stuffy crowd, ain’t it?”

“Right?” Dean folds his arms over his chest. “Everyone’s all slacks and dress shoes and … named the same thing.”

“You meet the Jeffreys?” asks Bobby.

“Dude!” Dean whips to face him. “‘the hell is with those guys?”

Across the room, Jeff and Geoff speak animatedly with Sam and Jess. Dean doesn’t know what it is about them, but they set his teeth grinding. Maybe it’s the sweater-button-down combination, or the absence of facial hair.

And t’s definitely something to do with the fact that, though Dean towers over the both of them, they still manage to look down their noses at him and Cas.

“Hey,” Bobby claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t let ‘em get to you.”

“Come on, Bobby,” Dean gestures toward them, not caring that he’s being obvious in his smack talking. “I got a naked angel in a rainbow circle on my shirt and they’re _still_ gayer than me.”

“Now, you should know better’n anyone that you don’t go around stereotypin’ people,” says Bobby. “You wouldn’t want anyone doin’ that to you.”

“But they’re a walking stereotype,” Dean groans.

“Who is?” Cas appears behind them, a ghost of skunky smoke surrounding him. He hands Dean a tiny box and explains, “So I wasn’t allowed to buy more than one box, since I look like I could be breaking bad in my bathtub, but this should last you the whole weekend, right?”

“Yeah, thanks Cas,” Dean sighs, relieved, and loops an arm around Cas’ neck. He presses a kiss to his cheek and hands the box back to him. “Can you open it for me?”

Cas rolls his eyes, “You’re such a baby. Hello Bobby.”

“Cas,” Bobby nods. “Always nice to see you.”

“Where are you sitting?” asks Cas as he pops a pill out of the blister pack and hands it to Dean. Dean washes it down with a gulp of beer. “We’re back here with… someone. I can’t remember who.”

“Jess’ parents’ former pastor?” Dean ventures a guess. “I don’t know, there’s so many goddamned people here.”

“I got a seat up with Jessica’s folks,” Bobby sighs. “The _Parents Table_ , I guess. Ain’t an inch of common ground between us... Whoops, heads up. Jeffreys incoming. Talk to you boys later.”

“Ah, shit,” Dean mutters, sticking close to Cas as he downs the rest of his beer.

“Dressed for the occasion, I see,” says Geoff.

Cas doesn’t look half bad—showered and shaved, he almost looks downright presentable. He’s still wearing his tie-dye Grateful Dead t-shirt, but he put on a pair of jeans that fit and is wearing actual shoes.

“Dean and Cas,” Jeff says over the top of his beer, his in a fancier glass than Dean’s. “Sam talks about you two a lot. You live in Nebraska?”

“Yep,” Dean nods.

“That must be difficult,” Geoff says, and Dean shakes his head.

“Not really, no,” he replies, “But me’n Sammy grew up in Kansas, and then we moved Oklahoma, so…”

He trails off, not sure where he’s going with any train of thought. He starts sweating under the collar of his shirt, silently begging Cas to take the reins and steer this conversation away from the gorge it’s careening toward.

“And he says you two have been together for, how long?” Geoff looks at Jeff.

“Nine years,” Cas supplies.

“That’s incredible,” Jeff nods.

“Can’t be too wide of a dating pool out there though,” Geoff points out.

Dean’s stomach lurches, but before he can tell this kid to go fuck himself, Cas steps in, “I actually didn’t start sleeping with other men _until_ I got to Nebraska.”

“And where are you from, originally?” asks Jeff.

“Newport Beach,” Cas folds his arms over his chest, shoulders curling in on themselves.

“Why in god’s name would you go to Nebraska?” Geoff and Jeff both share in a laugh.

“For school,” Cas explains. “UNL had the program I wanted.”

“Oh, really?” Geoff nods. “And what was that?”

“Religious studies,” Cas stares right at Geoff—wait, Jeff? Dean doesn’t know which fuckin’ Jeff is which.

“A very lucrative degree, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t get my degree,” Cas continues his stare-down. “I decided to postpone pursuing my degree until such time that I was mentally stable enough to continue.”

“And how long ago was that?”

Cas lets out a breath through his nose and replies, “Nine years ago.”

Nearly a decade and Dean has never heard Cas say anything about going back to school. Why would he? He doesn’t need a degree, and they can’t afford to put him back in college, even if it’s just to finish up a semester’s worth of credits.

Without hesitation, Dean slides an arm around Cas’ neck and presses a kiss to his temple.

“Did you two meet at school, then?” Jeffrey asks. Jeffrey is the nicer one, Dean thinks.

“At a bar,” Cas replies just as Dean says, “I didn’t go to college.”

“Oh?” Geoff asks.

“Got my GED when I was seventeen,” Dean nods. “’cause I didn’t have mommy and daddy’s credit card tucked away in my wallet; I had to work.”

Cas leaves.

No announcement, no excuse, he just turns right around and walks out of the banquet room.

“Wow, what’s eating him?”

Dean’s face falls.

“Couldn’t be two self-important douchenozzles undercutting everything he’s ever done,” he bites back. “Look, fuck with me all you want, do _not_ fuck with him.You asshats so much as look at him the wrong way again, I will kill you and make it look like a murder-suicide.”

“Such a stunning display of heteronormative masculinity,” Geoff claps his hands. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy; you don’t have to put on the butch act for us.”

Fire ignites under Dean’s skin, shooting up his limbs, into his spine and up to his brain, until all he can see is red. This is the moment when Cas would put a hand on his shoulder and tell him to relax. This is when he’d press Dean against his chest and start breathing slowly, evenly, until Dean’s synched up with him.

Fuck, Cas left.

Following his partner’s lead, Dean turns and leaves without so much as a “ _see you later”._

Back out on the sidewalk, the air is thinner and Dean finally feels able to breathe. He looks in all directions before he spots Cas. He sits on a planter in front of the next building over, which would, of course, have to be a fucking yacht club.

Dean walks up beside him and takes a seat.

“Hey.”

“Hello,” Cas replies, staring dejectedly at the concrete in front of him.

“You know those guys are fuckwagons, right?” Dean begins.

“I know,” Cas nods. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothin’s wrong with you, baby,” Dean drapes an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in close.

“I don’t care what other people think about me, or us,” Cas leans his head on Dean’s. “I _really_ do not care for people like that, though.”

“Yeah, me neither,” says Dean, pressing a kiss to the top of Cas’ head.

“Even though I also had mommy and daddy’s credit card tucked away in my wallet,” Cas sighs.

_Ah, shit._

“Cas,” Dean sighs. “I wasn’t talking about you, you know that.”

“I know,” Cas scoots even closer to him. “It’s been so long, sometimes I forget what I am.”

Dean frowns and looks at him, “And what are you?”

“Rich kid from Newport Beach,” Cas sighs. “I’ll never not be that.”

“Hey,” Dean squeezes his shoulder. “That may be how you were raised, but it’s not who you are.”

“Right,” Cas nods. “I’m a college dropout who waits tables, teaches yoga three days a week and still spends an exorbitant amount of time stoned on his couch.”

“So what?” Dean asks. “Those all sound like awesome things. Cas, you’re the most fucking incredible person on the planet, and anyone who doesn’t think so can go fuck themselves.”

Cas turns and pulls Dean into a hug, hiding in his neck.

“I hate feeling like this,” he mutters.

“I know, baby,” Dean rubs circles over his back. “We’re gonna get through it, though. And y’know what?”

Cas hums.

“We still got the bachelor party,” says Dean. “We get to see those fucking dickheads smashed beyond recognition. I gotta tell ya, nothing makes me feel better than watching elitist twatwaffles making total assholes of themselves.”

Cas hugs him tighter.

“I love you so much,” he sniffs.

“I love you too,” Dean runs his fingers through Cas’ bone dry, frayed hair, getting him to look up. He plants a kiss on his lips, right there in the middle of the street. And even if a kiss doesn’t fix everything, or anything really, it at least anchors them and reminds them that they’re not alone, that they have each other _and it’s all going to be fine._

 


	2. Part 2: The Bachelor(ette) Party

_“You can be our libation liaison.”_

_“Your what now?”_

_“They want you to buy booze, Dean.”_

_“Oh… could’a just said that.”_

Dean’s gut twists when he remembers the look Brady gave Sam. It’s not enough that the guy is a total douche in general, but that he’s Sammy’s best man? Dean didn’t want the position anyway, even after Sam had asked him multiple times if he was _absolutely sure_ , but he’s starting to think he should’ve just bitten the bullet and done it.

Any half-baked scheme he could’ve come up with was bound to be better than whatever this douche could pull out of his ass.

It’s quarter ‘til nine when Dean gets back to his and Cas’ room, where he is very unsurprised to see Bobby lounging with his feet up on the desk, watching TV.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Dean says. “What did you do with my not-husband?”

“Your boy’s in the bathroom, pullin’ the curlers outta his hair,” Bobby scratches the back of his neck. “Figured I’d check on ‘im before you guys left for the stag party.”

Dean nods and shucks his jacket just as the sound of a hair dryer fills the bathroom.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” he says. He grabs the six pack of Sierra Nevada he bought for himself (a post party treat, if you will) and stocks the mini fridge. Bobby’s watching basketball, and while it’s neither of their favorite sport, Dean can’t help but sit down on the edge of the bed and watch like it’s the most fascinating thing on the planet.

Dean vaguely hears the hair dryer go off and the bathroom door unlock.

“Hey, I think we’re supposed to be at the hotel in like half an hour,” says Dean. “Are you ready to go?”

The door opens and Dean glances over, only to leap to his feet when he sees Cas.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?” he demands, and Cas immediately tangles his fingers in his freshly washed, dried, fluffy brown hair.

“It matches my real color, right?” Cas checks the mirror on the bathroom door. “I think I got it right, but there’s only so much you can do with drugstore hair dye.”

“Dude,” Dean comes forward, stroking a hand over Cas’ hair. “Why?”

“You don’t like it?” Cas asks, very real worry behind his eyes. They don’t pop the same way as they did with the blue, even though it’s been months since Cas’ hair has actually been blue. Dean rests his hand on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, stroking his thumb over the newly shaved skin on his jaw.

“s’just been a long time,” says Dean. “Is this because of those dicks at the restaurant, though? ‘cause if it is, all you had to do was tell me and I’d’ve beat ‘em up for you.”

Cas’ eyes flit to the left for just a second before coming back to rest on Dean’s.

“Aw, baby,” Dean pulls him into a hug. Cas smells like hair dye, but not in the same way as it has for the last stretch of years.

The blue dye smells like blueberries; this dye smells toxic.

“I know, I know,” Cas sighs and pulls back. “But it was time.”

“Says who?” Dean scowls.

“Says me,” Cas raises his eyebrows and pulls back from Dean. “That’s the last I want to hear about it.”

Dean mimes pulling a zipper over his lips.

“Thank you,” Cas nods.

Dean ‘unzips’ one side of his mouth to say, “You’re welcome.”

“All right,” Bobby grunts, pushing himself up from his chair. “Well, glad to see you boys made it through round one relatively unscathed. You need anythin’, I’m just down the hall.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean smiles as Cas murmurs something similar.

Sam and Jess are staying further from the wedding site than they are. Sure, the rooms might be nicer, and okay it’s a pretty swanky looking place, but it’s so unnecessary. Sam and Jess didn’t want a big to-do, and while Dean may not like weddings, shouldn’t the damn thing be what the bride and groom want?

“We’re going to die here,” Cas concludes as soon as they pull into a parking space.

“Ah, don’t be so negative,” Dean pats him on the thigh, and offers, “I’ll give you a handie before we go inside.”

Cas looks over at him and quirks an eyebrow. “Are you prepared to make good on that offer, Winchester?”

Dean grins and leans over to unzip Cas’ pants, but Cas smacks his hand away.

“Just testing your level of commitment,” Cas teases back and unbuckles his seatbelt.

“Not cool, man!” Dean calls as Cas grabs the box of booze out of the back seat.

“Not cool how?” asks Cas. “You weren’t even the one that was going to get off.”

“Maybe I wanted to go in there knowing I’d just had my hand on your dick,” Dean poses back. “You don’t know me.”

“Lord…” Cas rolls his eyes.

Sam and Jess are in a different room than the one Cas and Dean step into.

“Holy shit,” Dean is the first to marvel. This room could not have been cheap. There’s a whole living room area, plus a wet bar _and_ a mini bar—maybe tonight won’t be too bad.

“You guys made it!” Sam beams, unfolding himself from the couch so he can greet them. He hugs Dean, and then stops before he moves to Cas. “Your hair,” he says.

“Yes,” Cas nods. “I decided it was time for a change.”

Sam nods and looks over his shoulder, before turning and dropping his voice to ask, “Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah man, don’t worry about it,” Dean nods. “Look, I got you all stocked up.”

Sam barely even glances into the box before his face falls.

“Dean, what is all this?”

“I got stuff to make drinks,” says Dean. “I got limes, some mixers, a variety of liquor to choose from—“

“No, it’s great,” Sam nods. “Thank you. Just… these guys aren’t really the mixed drink kinda guys.”

“’the fuck are you talking about?” Dean asks. “I’m not talkin’ Screaming Orgasms or Slippery Nipples—”

 _“Dude_.”

“What!” Dean exclaims. “You guys said bring booze, so that’s what I did. I’m a fucking bartender, Sam.”

“I know,” Sam nods. “These are just more… y’know. Scotch and cigar type guys.”

Dean looks over at Cas, who just shakes his head. That’s the problem with someone knowing what you’re going to say before you say it—they tend to head you off before you can get a really good line out.

“Okay,” Dean nods instead. “You want me to run out and get something else?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, pointedly not looking at Cas. “No, I’m sorry. This is good. Thanks, Dean, you’re awesome.” 

Sam takes the box of booze from Cas and sets it down on the wet bar. Suddenly there’s a wave of creepy crawlies under Dean’s skin and inside his guts. If Sam wants something else, he’ll get something else. Yeah, it would’ve been nice to get a little direction before he went and spent a small fortune on a bunch of alcohol nobody here will even drink, but what can you do?

“Hey,” Cas puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Not a mixed drink crowd,” Dean shakes his head. “Like Thing One and Thing Two aren’t pounding back mojitos and daiquiris every chance they get. Making bitchy comments about… people’s shoes or some shit.”

“Okay, easy there, tiger.” Cas gives him a pat on the back. “It’s one night.”

Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s middle and pulls him back, flush against his chest. He can feel Cas’ ribcage expand and contract under him, and, out of what he now realizes is becoming habit, Dean does the same.

“There you go,” Cas kisses the back of Dean’s neck. “All right, into the fray. Game face, kiddo.”

“You sound like Gabe when you say that,” Dean grumbles. 

“You’d think we were related,” Cas grins and gives him a light swat on the ass.

Brady soon joins them, offering up two tumblers of deep golden scotch.

“Drink up, gentlemen,” he claps them both on the shoulders. Dean tips the glass to his nose and takes a sniff. It doesn’t smell like anything he’s ever served or consumed.

“I’m gonna guess this ain’t no Johnnie Walker,” says Dean as he tips the glass to his lips, taking in a generous sip.

 “Glenmorangie,” Brady supplies.

Dean chokes.

“Are you shitting me?”  he exclaims. “Dude, this shit’s expensive as fuck.”

“So you’ll understand why I’m asking you not to waste it,” Brady gives a friendly wink. “Come on over, we’re about to start the night’s festivities.”

Brady leads them over to a horseshoe of couches, gathered around a large flat screen TV. There are a few more guys from the rehearsal dinner, more dudes Sam went to school with. Dean doesn’t remember their names and he doesn’t care to try.

“What’re we doing, exactly?” asks Dean. “’cause if it’s a strip club, I may have to make a stop and exchange a few bills for some singles.”

 _Geoff_ catches this and raises an eyebrow.

“You know, not everyone abides by the idea that a bachelor party has to be raunchy,” he clips. “And what do you two care anyway?”

“Tits,” Dean replies as Cas explains, “I enjoy the supple curves of the female form.”

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, boys,” says _Geoff_.

“Nebraska,” Cas corrects.

“You don’t have to put on the machismo act, I told you.”

“It’s not a machismo act,” Dean scowls. “We’re bisexual.”

“Oh, please,” _Geoff_ gives a hell of an eye roll. “It’s not freshman year, okay? You don’t have to kiss another girl to impress the frat boys. Grow up, you guys are gay.”

Dean looks over at Cas and raises an eyebrow.

“He sayin’ bisexuals don’t exist?” he asks, and Cas nods.

“Sure sounds like it,” he says and smacks his free hand to his forehead. “Thank god, it was getting so confusing, I’m glad I had someone straighten me out.”

“Hah, I see what you did there,” Dean holds up his hand for a high-five. Cas gives a satisfying slap. “Goddamn, y’know I was _wondering_ why I was so grossed out by sucking your dick when I love eating pussy so much. I just figured I needed time to adjust to the radical change in genitalia.”

“Everyone has a preference,” _Geoff_ straightens his spine. “And if you say you don’t then you’re lying.”

“Yeah, here’s my preference,” says Dean. “Brutally assfucking the shit out of—“

“—a societal system that lets anyone believe that sexuality is a binary, not a spectrum,” Cas finishes and aims an elbow at Dean’s ribs.

“Right,” Dean grunts. “That.”

“Right, but gun to your head, which would you choose?” _Geoff_ presses, obviously unfazed by Cas’ entire point.

“Gun to my head?” Dean considers. “I’d pick Cas.”

“So, men,” says _Geoff_.

“Cas,” Dean repeats, and looks back at Cas, “Am I speaking English?”

“Definitely speaking English,” Cas nods.

“Right,” _Geoff_ gives a tired sigh. “So, big beefy top is a flaming faggot, and what about you?”

Cas raises his eyebrows, “Are you serious? Dean.”

And even though Dean knows that’ll always be the answer, it still makes his chest get all fuzzy hearing it said out loud.

“And Grateful Dead’s one too,” _Geoff_ cocks his head, “Aw, isn’t that cute we got that sorted out?”

“One more word outta your mouth and I’m unleashing holy hell on you, you ignorant piece of sh—“

“Guys!” Sam calls over to them, and Dean has to dial back his rage. “Come on, we’re about to start.”

 _Geoff_ gives them a smug smile before turning to join Jeffrey on the couch. Brady dims the lights before Dean and Cas can even get seated.

“That’s it?” Dean whispers as the TV comes on. “We’re watchin’ a fuckin’ movie?”

“So it would seem,” Cas nods and takes a sip of his scotch. He smacks his lips, “Damn, that’s good.”

“Only reason I’m still standin’ here, baby,” Dean says. They finally find a place to sit, a whole couch away from Sam.

Dean leans over the built dude beside him and stage whispers to Sam, “We at least watchin’ a skin flick?”

“No, Dean,” Sam snorts, but Dean can see the smile crawling high up on his cheeks.

“We got any candy?” Dean asks then.

“What the hell are you doing?” asks Mr. Built Dude.

“Talkin’ to my brother, fuck off,” Dean frowns at him before going back to Sam. “Seriously, Sammy, you got any Good ’n’ Plenty’s?”

“Dean, even if we had candy why the hell would anyone buy Good ‘n’ Plenty’s?”

“Because they’re candy-coated pellets of joy,” Dean explains, because _obviously_.

“Shut up, we’re starting it,” Brady warns. Dean sits back against the couch cushions and sighs. Cas puts a hand on his thighs and squeezes.

“We’ll get you some on the way back to the hotel,” he promises.

Dean grumbles, but falls into complacency as Cas’ hand moves from Dean’s thigh up to his hair. There are worse things they could be doing, he supposes. He rests his head on Cas’ shoulder and watches as the opening scene plays on the screen.

Wait, he recognizes this.

What is this from?

“Oh, my god, we are watching _Avatar_ ,” Dean realizes, bile rising in his throat.

“Yeah, we’re trying to,” Mr. Built Dude snaps. Acid starts eating away at Dean’s stomach, boiling and churning so hard that he may actually get a little sick. He turns and cuddles further into Cas, not caring that some of Sam’s snot-nosed buddies are giving them a total stare-down.

Dean does his best to ignore them and tries to focus on the movie. They get about twenty minutes into the crapfest before Dean catches the Jeffs out of the corner of his eye.

They’re staring right at him and they’re fucking _laughing_.

“Hey, heads up,” Dean shifts away from Cas as subtly as he can. “I gotta get some air.”

Dean makes a bee line for the door, not breaking his laser focus until he’s out of the room and down the hall, at the ice machine. White hot rage shoots through his limbs, and before he realizes what he’s doing he aims and swings a kick at the large metal machine.

“Dean!” Cas’ voice comes from not too far away. Dean doesn’t care, he just lays down another kick, and another until he feels Cas’ hand on his upper arm.

“Dean, what the fuck are you doing?” Cas demands now.

“I can’t sit in there anymore, man,” Dean shakes his head, allowing Cas to pull him away but still refusing to make eye contact. “I tried. Cas I tried so hard.”

He looks up just in time to see Cas’ face soften.

“I know you did, honey,” he presses a warm palm to Dean’s cheek. There’s something about this man’s touch that’s borderline indescribable. As soon as skin lands on skin, it’s as though all of Dean’s pain funnels out of his body, sucked in by Cas’ hand, leaving Dean breathing just a little more evenly.

“You don’t have to go back in there,” Cas reassures him. “I won’t make you. And you’re not a bad person for not wanting to go back in either, so I don’t want to hear it.”

Dean purses his lips but grudgingly gives a nod.

“Now,” Cas reaches into his sweater pocket to reveal a newly rolled joint. “Where do you think we can get good and baked?”

They decide to do so outside in the parking lot, more specifically in the back seat of the Impala.

“I know we agreed not to taint you, baby,” Dean pats the back of the headrest. “This is kinda an emergency, though.”

“I think she’d want you to do whatever you needed to do, Dean,” Cas hands Dean the joint and the lighter. “You start it off, you need it.”

“Man, you get it burning way better than I do,” Dean declines. “I appreciate the offer, but we’re better off with you doing it.”

“You’re not a fuck-up, Dean,” Cas rolls his eyes.

“Who said anything about that?” Dean asks as Cas lights up and gets the joint going.

“I know how your brain works,” Cas passes it off. “I know what you’re thinking. Dean, we’ve been in stressful situations before, and that in there? That’s stressful. I know you want to be there for Sam, but you need to take care of yourself, first and foremost. That’s what Sam would want you to do anyway.”

Dean nods and releases the burning smoke from his lungs, “What the fuck though, right? Who the fuck watches Avatar at a bachelor party?”

“Nerds,” Cas rests his head back against the cool glass of the window.

“Goddamned right,” Dean shakes his head and takes another hit. Baby’s insides soon fill with a haze, even only halfway through the joint. Cas puts it out and away, but just sitting there absorbing all the smoke, breathing it in and out for a solid twenty minutes, Dean feels like he can barely move.

“Man, fuck that guy,” Dean hears himself say. “Like I gotta… gotta prove myself to him? Like we gotta prove ourselves to him? How the hell do you test if someone’s bisexual or not?”

“Perhaps they sit you down naked in a room and show you gay, lesbian, and straight porn.”

“Yeah, but what if they show you shitty porn?” Dean poses. “They call you asexual and tell you to move along?”

“Who knows,” Cas yawns. “I think we need fresh air.”

“Yeah… me too.”

Five minutes later—or maybe an hour later? Dean can’t tell. They finally stumble out of the back seat and take in a few lungfuls of untainted air.

It does feel very nice.

“Okay,” Cas grabs both of Dean’s hands. “What should we do?”

Dean shrugs and offers, “Could sneak into the pool. Skinny dip or something. Or, we could dance in the parking lot.”

Cas snorts his little stoner laugh as Dean snakes an arm around his waist and starts trying to recall the steps Cas has taught him a thousand times before. He fails spectacularly, but Cas keeps giggling and hangs on for dear life as Dean lifts him up and spins them around.

“Dean? Cas?”

They both descend into hysterical laughter as they come to a stop, leaning on each other for support.

“Oh, my god, you guys are stoned off your asses,” says Jess, covering her mouth as she and her younger sister try not to laugh. Theirs is friendly laughter, laughing with them instead of at them.

Dean likes Jess way better than any of those ass-monkeys up in Sam’s suite.

“You guys aren’t at the bachelor party?” Jess asks.

“It’s boring as shit up there, Jess,” Dean whines. “And everyone’s mean.”

“Ugh, Jeff and Geoff,” Jess gives a knowing nod. “Geoff is super bitchy, but Sam actually likes Jeff, so he puts up with him. I don’t like either of them, quite frankly.”

“Thank Christ,” Dean turns his head to the heavens. “A sane human being.”

“Well, you guys shouldn’t be subjected to a shitty night just because of Sam’s friends,” says Jess. “Come party with us. We’ve got margarita mix.”

Jess’ sister pulls a bottle out of her canvas bag, so Dean can get a good look.

“Dude, get out,” Dean waves his hand. “You guys got booze?”

“Tons, yeah,” says the sister. Jane, Dean thinks.

“C’mon,” he claps his hands together. “Let’s go take inventory, see if I can’t get you girls hooked up with some good drinks.”

“Incoming,” Cas announces, and Dean has only a handful of seconds to brace himself before Cas hops on his back. “Carry me into their den of Sapphic iniquity.”

“God, you’re such a freak,” Dean laughs.

Jess’ room is on a different floor, thankfully. She swipes her key and instantly, the atmosphere is already ten times lighter than it was in Sam’s room. The girls are more lively, talk to each other over their drinks and, god bless them—there are cheap plastic party dicks _everywhere_.

“ _Heaven_ ,” Cas sings, _“I’m in heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak—“_

“Okay, down you go, Fred,” Dean grunts and sets Cas back onto the floor.

“Ladies,” Jess puts her hand up. “Dean and Cas are going to be joining us. For those of you who don’t know, Dean is Sam’s older brother, Cas is his partner, and they are super cool.”

“Aw, you’re cool too, Jess,” Dean tries to straighten out the kinks in his back. Carrying Cas like that gets harder and harder.

“And!” Jess lays a hand on Dean’s bicep. “He happens to be a pretty damn good bartender. If you ask him nicely enough, he may even make you a drink.”

They have both a wet and mini bar too. Lining the bar is about every type of alcohol Dean has ever seen.

“Everyone was responsible for bringing one thing,” says Jess. “We’re pretty well stocked.”

“Yeah, you are,” Dean sheds his jacket, earning him a hoot from a couple of girls close by. He bounces his eyebrows and winks.

“Flirt,” Jess smacks him fondly on the arm.

“Whatever,” Dean teases her back. “Okay, bride-to-be, what’ll you have?”

“Do you have what you need for a Sea Breeze?” she asks.

“Hell yeah, girl, sit your ass down,” Dean grins and grabs a bottle of UV off the bar. Instantly it soothes him, and he falls into the familiar rhythm of pouring, mixing, shaking. A little sawdust, some colored lights, and a pool table and this place could be downright homey.

Cas comes up and leans against the bar, “You know, you really shouldn’t take your work home with you.”

“Ha-ha,” Dean rolls his eyes and hands off the drink. “Would you go give that to my sister-in-law-to-be?”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Cas sticks out his tongue. Dean chuckles as Cas dances over to Jess, extending to her the cocktail in his hand. She takes a sip, lets out a hoot, and damn does that feel good.

Soon, Dean finds himself making drinks for just about the entire party. Some more complicated than others, and a lot of them improvised according to their supplies. Meanwhile, Cas busies himself with manning the iPod dock, scrolling through the music until he finds some pulsing club pop to set the mood. At the end of the day, it’s all about making people happy, and damn do people underestimate the happiness that comes with a well-crafted drink and some Ke$ha.

Somewhere along the line, Cas drapes a string of penis-shaped beads around his neck.

“Oh my god,” Dean overhears, and then is quickly met by Jessica (now on her third drink) and a couple of her friends. “Dean,” Jessica asks, “Do you do body shots?”

“Do I do them?” he asks.

“Would you pour them?”

“Yeah, if you guys want,” Dean shrugs. “Who you wanna do ‘em off?”

A tiny brunette steps up, hands raised above her head. Suddenly everyone is chanting the girl’s name, Ava. She lies back on the coffee table and lifts her shirt, sucking her belly down convex.

“You girls know how to party,” Dean nods and grabs a bottle of tequila from the bar. He pours it down into the dip of her stomach and Dean announces, “Bride suggests it, I say bride goes first.”

The girls bust up into peals of laughter and cheers as Jess licks a patch of salt off of Ava’s belly and sucks up the tequila.

Even if Sam’s friends are dicks, Jess is fucking awesome, just the kind of person Sam needs in his life to balance out his whole tight-ass vibe.

As the girls each take their turns taking shots off each other, Dean can see Cas inching closer and closer to the center of the crowd. Jess must notice this too, because she grabs the tequila out of Dean’s hand and announces, “Okay, Cas get on the table. Dean, you’re next.”

“Oh, it’s cool,” says Dean. “I’m more of a whiskey guy.”

“That’s not what I said!” Jess declares. “Suck this booze out of your boyfriend’s belly button, by order of the queen.”

Dean lets out a throaty guffaw at that and kneels by the table. Cas lies back and tugs up his shirt, earning him a few hoots and cat calls. He sucks in his stomach and gives Dean a smile, “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Save it,” Dean gives a fond shake of his head, and okay.

Maybe he flushes a little when Jess pours the tequila, and then shakes some salt onto Cas’ skin.

“Do it!” she shouts, and the rest of the girls join in. Dean’s high is just present enough to send him into a fit of giggles before he leans forward and swipes his tongue through the salt.

He sucks up the shot, and yeah, no matter what you do to it, tequila still tastes like horse piss.

Dean pulls Cas up off the table and brings him into a kiss. They’re making a total spectacle of themselves, but Dean couldn’t give two fucks. This is the most fun he’s had all day. Cas takes one of the girls by the hand and starts dancing with her, and Dean does the same, sticking his hand out in front of Jess.

“Takes two to tango, sister,” he says. She beams and takes his hand and, surprisingly, ends up leading him into a dance.

It’s a little past one in the morning when the hotel phone rings. Jane answers, nods a few times and tries her best to sound sober. When she hangs up she announces, “Okay, we’re being too loud. The front desk called to ask us to turn it down.”

Jess pouts, looking a little woozy now, but consents to turning down the music. Another few moments and Jess leans hard into Dean’s chest.

“Whoa, you okay?” Dean asks.

“I… need to sit,” she decides.

“All right, let’s get you into the room,” says Dean, and he leads her back into the monstrous bedroom attached to the rest of the suite. He shuts the door behind him and helps her onto the bed. “Hang tight, I’ll grab you a washcloth.”

He opens the door to the bathroom, only to find two of the bridesmaids sucking face, one on the counter, the other with her hand up her friend’s skirt. Body shots do have this effect on people.

“Sorry ladies,” he apologizes, grabbing a washcloth off of the towel rack. “Just gotta get in here for a second.”

They don’t move. Dean turns on the sink, but he can hear the very distinct sounds of finger fucking over the rush of water, the quick intakes of breath and the soft mewls that only girls seem to make. He finishes dousing the washcloth as quickly as possible before he recommends, “You may want to lock the door in the future.”

“Fuck off!” they both snap.

“Roger that,” Dean salutes and shuts the door behind him. Jess is flat on her back now.

“Jess?”

“Yeah,” she grumbles. Thank god, she’s still conscious.

“Here,” he sits beside her and flops the whole washcloth over her face.

“Hey!” she laughs.

“You know you got one of your bridesmaids fingerbanging the shit out of another one in the bathroom, right?” he asks.

“Ugh,” Jess pulls the towel off of her face. “Katie and Lauren. They’ve been hooking up since the tenth grade; I don’t know why they don’t just admit they’re in love with one another and ride off into the sunset on a rainbow unicorn… or whatever.”

Dean snorts and sits crisscross on the bedspread, “That is the preferred queer transportation.”

“The only lesbians who won’t rent a U-Haul.”

Dean barks a laugh and marvels, “Man, you’re so fuckin’ awesome. I’m glad Sammy has you.”

Jess props herself up on her elbows and gives Dean a wobbly smile, “Thank you Dean. That’s really nice of you to say.”

“Don’t mention it,” he smiles.

Jess sits all the way up and drapes the washcloth over the back of her neck, studying Dean a little too closely. She asks, “Would you and Cas ever get married?”

Dean lets out a laugh, trying not to sound too irritated as he explains, “You know, I want you and Sam to do whatever makes you happy. Personally? I’m not a fan of weddings or marriage or anything like that. Me’n’ Cas are committed to each other, but… even if we wanted to, it’s not legal back home. Can’t even get a goddamned civil union recognized.”

“Not much heart in the Heartland, is there?” Jess sighs. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Dean shrugs. “Not like I want any part of a club that excludes me and my bae anyway.”

Jess snorts, “Your bae, shut _up_.”

“They wouldn’t even let us file to adopt,” says Dean. “We tried, but…”

He sighs. It hurts too much to think about how Cas’ face had fallen when he read the letter from the agency, it hurts too much to remember how hard his own gut had plummeted when he read the words himself.

“Dean,” Jess lets out a soft sigh and scoots toward him. She wraps an arm around his shoulder and rests their heads together. “You two deserve so much more. You deserve to be happy in every way you want to be.”

Dean gives her a smile in return and hugs her back.

“Thanks, Jess.”

It doesn’t take long for Jess to crawl up further onto the bed and bury her face in her pillow, exhausted by the night’s events. Dean stays with her until he’s sure she’s asleep, making sure she’s secure on her side before he goes out to find Cas.

Only a few of the party still remain standing, and Cas is not one of them. He’s draped over the arm of a couch, ass in the air and face planted firmly in a seat cushion.

“Hey,” Dean pats him on the flank. Cas startles awake and kicks back, narrowly missing Dean’s ‘nads.

“Dude, uncool.”

“What’s happening,” Cas grunts. “Where am I?”

“The bachelorette party,” Dean explains. “C’mon, we better head back up to Sammy’s room.”

“Oh,” Cas nearly falls over, trying to push himself up. Dean has to catch him and set him up straight.

“Hey, handsome,” Dean smiles.

“Hey,” Cas rubs his eyes. “You okay?”

Dean’s brows knit together. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You have that little pinch in between your eyebrows,” Cas explains.

“I’m fine, baby,” Dean says. He places a hand on Cas’ cheek, a reassurance that he hopes translates. “C’mon, let’s go.”

He lets Cas walk with an arm around his shoulder to steady himself. Apart from the tequila and the scotch, Dean hasn’t had anything to drink all night. Maybe it’s because the last of his high still lingers in his head and he doesn’t want to mix it with booze.

When they knock on bachelor party door, they’re met with a bleary-eyed Sam and an empty suite.

“Dude, what happened?” asks Dean as he and Cas shuffle inside the room.

“Everyone left already,” Sam frowns, staring at Dean’s chest. “Where the hell did you get dick necklaces?”

“Downstairs with your fiancé,” says Cas. “I’m very, very cross-faded right now and I think I need to take a nap.”

“I’ll drive us back to the hotel in a minute,” Dean reassures him and looks back at Sam, “It’s one o’clock, everyone’s done?”

“It’s almost two, Dean,” Sam rubs his eyes. “Why were you at the bachelorette party?”

“I, uh,” Dean shifts. “I needed some air. It was getting a little, uh…”

“Triggering,” Cas supplies.

“Yeah, that,” Dean nods. “Sorry.”

Sam’s shoulders drop slightly and he lets out a sigh. “It’s not your fault,” he shakes his head. “You don’t have control over what triggers you.”

Not the reaction he was expecting.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Sam nods. “It’s fine. Bachelorette party doesn’t trigger you but mine did.”

“Sam,” Cas shifts more upright against Dean. “It should be noted that Dean’s problem isn’t loud noises or large groups of people, but more the types of people and the noises that they make.”

Sam nods, “So, you don’t like my friends. Very nice.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly being subtle about it,” says Dean. “I hate everything about this place. The best part of this weekend so far has been the night we got here, ‘cause I was with you and Jess and I love you and Jess. Can’t stand anyone else I’ve met since then.”

“Wow, okay,” Sam lets out a laugh. “Yeah, then you can just go.”

“What?” Dean’s eyebrows go up.

“Dude, just go, I’ve gotta get some sleep before tomorrow.”

Dean scowls just as Cas pulls away from him.

“Sam, I understand you’re under a lot of stress,” says Cas. “That’s perfectly okay, you’re entitled to that. You are not allowed to take it out on Dean.”

“Cas, butt the fuck out,” Sam snaps. Cas steps forward, poised to throw a punch, but he loses his balance and stumbles into the armchair beside him.

“Okay,” Dean grabs Cas by the back of his shirt, pulling him upright once more. “You know what, buddy? Call me when you pull your head out of your piss hole. Cas, c’mon.”

“You call me when you stop being so goddamned immature,” Sam manages to clip before the door shuts behind Dean and Cas.

“God, what a dick,” Cas grunts.

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me.”

They don’t speak as they drive the couple of miles back to their hotel—Cas can’t really say much of anything and Dean’s stomach is too full of bitter, white hot acid. Sam’s right, he can’t control what triggers him, so _why the fuck_ is he being such a dick? There’s no reason for it, especially since Sam’s the entire reason he’s even here.

The attendant at the front desk doesn’t even question why Cas looks like he just tumbled right out of the Thriller video.

So far, the shitty parts of the weekend have by and large outweighed the good.

Dean swipes their room key and herds Cas over to the bed, heaving a sigh when Cas giggles and bounces on the mattress.

“You need to shower?” asks Dean.

“I will in the morning,” Cas yawns.

“Good,” Dean decides and flops onto the bed with him. They scoot and adjust until Cas is tucked under Dean’s arm, left hand resting over Dean’s chest.

_Maybe that hand would look nice with a ring on it._

They have their tattoos, yeah, but unless they’re standing right beside each other, the implications are lost. He doesn’t need the state to recognize what they are, he doesn’t need to beg straight people to _find it in their hearts_ to see how unjust marriage laws are, but he does need everyone to know that Cas belongs right here, close to Dean’s heart and safe in his arms.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he reaches down to answer.

A text from Sam.

_‘So, that was really lame of me tonight, I’m sorry. You wanna grab breakfast tomorrow? None of my friends, no Cas or Jess or Bobby. Just you and me.’_

Relief floods Dean’s chest. Part of him thinks that he should still be mad, that he should tell people to go fuck himself, and he knows that, ten years ago, that part would have dominated the sensible part.

The part that tells Dean to stow his crap, that reminds him that everyone makes mistakes, and to hold onto anger only results in bitterness.

Or whatever zen shit Cas tells him when he gets pissed.

He pulls up his screen to reply, _‘only if u accompany me on a mission after’_

A second before he gets back, _‘It would be an honor and a privilege.’_

Dean falls asleep with a smile on his face and Cas’ hand on his chest, silently monitoring the rhythms of his heart, making sure there’s nothing he needs to mend.

He slips his fingers in between Cas’ and lets himself drift into sleep.

 


	3. Part 3: The Morning After

Castiel wakes before Dean to a slew of missed text messages, mostly from Gabriel. Apparently could not for the life of him figure out how to work the circuit breaker. The last message in that thread reads, _‘Jo fixed it, carry on.’_

Surprisingly enough there’s also a text from Lucifer, in response to the message Cas sent last night on his way back to the hotel from the drug store.

_‘We are definitely free this morning if you’d like to come have breakfast with us.’_

Castiel checks the time of the message.

6:14 am.

Another look to check the current time.

6:25 am.

Castiel punches in a reply, _‘I need to shower first, but that sounds like a plan.’_

He sets his phone back on the nightstand and rolls over to check on Dean. There’s out, and then there’s _out_ , and Dean is _out._ Castiel slides off the bed, muscles screaming out in protest, stomach all done up in painful knots. Who pumped his skull full of lead, and _come on_ how is it so bright outside?

Cas quickly hops in the shower and rinses off the remnants of last night’s boozey bacchanal. His hair tangles in his fingers, crappy and matted and pissed as hell that it’s been seared with more chemicals. He’s gentle as possible with detangling it, and already knows it’s going to be unmanageable by the time of the ceremony.

When he steps back out into the main room, Dean is sitting upright on the bed, flipping channels until he finds something good to watch.

“You’re up?” is all his brain can pump out right now.

“Yeah,” Dean yawns. “’m getting breakfast with Sammy.”

“Oh,” Cas runs his fingers through his damp hair. “Is he done being a jackass?”

“I think so,” Dean shrugs and finally tosses the remote onto the bed, search abandoned. “Texted me to apologize last night.”

He looks over at Cas and takes a moment to soak it all in. The tip of his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and suddenly Cas can’t stand still. They’ll probably be a hundred years old and Dean will still be able to get him hard with just a look.

“When are you meeting Sam?” Cas asks, unconsciously moving toward Dean.

His youthful face breaks out into a grin as he replies, “After I suck your dick.”

Cas lets out a small noise of surprise when Dean grabs him by the hips and pulls him forward. Thick forearms coil around his middle, bringing him in even further so Dean can press kisses to his stomach. His lips travel down and down, until he’s at the knot of towel just below Cas’ belly button.

Holy hell, he undoes it with his teeth.

“That’s just not fair,” he manages to breathe.

“Yeah, well,” Dean shrugs and takes Cas into his hand, “sometimes life ain’t fair, kid.”

Cas means to make a snide remark right back at him, but Dean keeps stroking him and kissing his stomach and it’s just… very difficult to be witty when he does that.

A sharp whine catches in his throat when Dean takes him into his mouth. Everything else dulls, including the pounding in his skull and the tempest in his stomach. This— _this_ is how he wished body shots could have ended last night. Back home that’s how it would have ended. Get either of their lips anywhere below the other’s neck and nine times out of ten it will end up with a cock in someone’s mouth.

Why did last night have to be that one in ten?

Dean goes slow, sliding over Cas in long, languid flicks of his tongue, savoring every moment he has Cas between his lips. It makes Cas’ knees wobble and that lower part of his gut get all tingly.

The build takes ages, leaving Cas a panting, moaning, groaning mess completely at Dean’s mercy. Still, Dean doesn’t give into Cas’ pleas of _more faster Dean please you’re killing me_ , he just drags the backs of his knuckles over the soft skin on Cas’ side and keeps his pace.

Cas curls in on himself and burrows his fingers in Dean’s hair, _‘haah-haah-haah’-_ ing as he pulls his orgasm out of him. It’s just as long and just as slow as everything else, and it leaves Cas shaking where he stands.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

“Good one?” Dean smiles against Cas’ stomach.

Cas pulls Dean’s head back by his hair and presses their lips together. He lets out a little yelp when Dean snags him and brings him back down to the bed, and laughs when Dean crawls on top of him.

Only Dean doesn’t kiss him or bite him or even start undressing himself for reciprocation. He just stares at Cas, so closely that Cas can see the dusting of freckles under his eyes.

“Dean?”

Dean snaps himself out of his trance and dips down to kiss him.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

It’s moments like this that truly amaze Castiel. He almost can’t believe this man is the same as young man he met, who couldn’t even say ‘I love you’ to his own surrogate family without the words getting caught in his throat, let alone to some guy he’d just started sleeping with.

There are many faces that Dean Winchester wears, and though Cas knows he will probably never see all of them, he believes he’s seen more of them than most people have. Dean has certainly seen more sides of Cas than anybody else. But Castiel knows that deep down, at the very core, under the layers of sarcasm and toilet humor, there’s a sweet kid with a big heart who just needs to be held and told that he is so, so loved.

He pulls Dean back down into another kiss and reminds him softly, “I love you too.”

When Castiel’s hand drifts lower so that he can get back to the matters at hand, Dean stops him.

“That was just for you,” he kisses Cas on the end of the nose.

“Dean,” Cas cocks an eyebrow.

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes. “You can owe me.”

He doesn’t give Cas time to reply before he’s on his feet, pulling off his shirt for his own shower.

“Hey, if you’re going to eat with Sam, do you mind if I take the car and grab something for myself?” he asks.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” Dean quirks an eyebrow before he loses his jeans.

And then his underwear.

His cock is at half mast, and more than anything Cas wants to slam Dean against the wall and suck him down.

He’ll wait, though. Oh, he’ll wait.

“I’m going to get dressed and go, then,” he swallows as Dean shuts the bathroom door behind him.

“Go with Christ,” Dean replies.

Cas lets out a soft sigh of relief and rolls off the bed to get dressed. At least he doesn’t have to cook up some half-baked lie to tell Dean. Not that consorting with his brother is a crime, or that Dean wouldn’t want him to do it—he just knows that his family stresses Dean out, and with all the other stressors this weekend it just doesn’t seem worth it.

He grabs the keys to the Impala off of the dresser, tucks his wallet and phone in his pocket, and heads downstairs for his drive up to Santa Rosa.

* * *

Sam looks like hell for a guy who barely even had a bachelor party at all. He’s obviously un-showered still, with rings under his eyes and a paper cup full of coffee to jumpstart his system.

“Soft mattress?” Dean asks.

“More like major milestone looming over my head and no desire to do it anymore,” Sam replies all too frankly as they pull away from the curb outside the motel.

Dean’s heart speeds up just a bit, a pump of adrenaline shooting through his limbs.

“You mean, like,” he clears his throat. “Like, not marrying Jess?”

“No! What?” Sam’s face scrunches. “No, nothing like that. I just don’t wanna deal with the wedding. I didn’t before, I still don’t, but Jess told me to put it out of my mind and not worry about it until we got to it. Lo and behold, here it is.”

Dean lets out a low whistle, “That’s a tough break, man.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Sam shakes his head. “I really did act like a jerk last night, though. I’m sorry, and I mean about everything. I’m sorry I was a jerk, and I’m really sorry my friends make you that uncomfortable. I, uh… I appreciate you toughing it out and being here for me, man. I don’t know if I could hack it without you.”

“Eh,” Dean waves him off, stomping down the pleasant feelings cresting in his heart. “You hacked it without me for years, you’re pretty damn tough now.”

Sam chuckles, but grips the steering wheel harder.

“Dude,” Dean says. “You’re gonna be fine, I swear. And my offer still stands, I’ll bail you out whenever you need it. I got three decades of lying to get out of shit I don’t wanna do under my belt, all right? I’ll make your absence look accidental as fuck.”

That gets a full out laugh and an amused, “Thanks.”

They stop at this little place right down the street from UC Berkeley’s campus. Dean recognizes the area vaguely from their trip here last summer, though not enough that he could get around on his own. He lollygags behind Sam as they leave the parking garage (fuck, what is it with Californians and their obsession to capitalize on parking spaces?), because this part of town is lined with colorful tables and colorful people.

He’s stopped by a weathered woman with blonde dreadlocks, who grabs his wrist and stares at his palm before she concludes, “Stubborn. Very stubborn… You love very intensely, don’t you?”

“Uh,” Dean tries to pull his hand away, but the woman holds fast.

She tuts, “Such a life you’ve had. So many bumps in the road.”

“Yeah, you don’t gotta tell me, lady,” Dean says.

“Do you have any children?” she asks.

“No,” Dean casts a look back at Sam, who only stifles his laugh behind his hand.

“No children in your life at all?” she asks.

“Dude, no,” Dean tries to take back his hand again, but this time the woman brings his palm up close to his face.

“One, two,” she counts a pair of faint lines just below his pinky. “Don’t worry, they’ll come when they’re meant to.”

She lets go of Dean’s hand and holds up an old coffee can with a few crumpled dollars in the bottom.

Dean licks his lips and fishes his wallet out of his pocket. He stuffs a ten dollar bill in the can and thanks the woman before he speeds towards Sam and hastily pulls him away.

“I need a fuckin’ vat of Purell like now,” he mutters, and Sam lets out a laugh.

Once in the café, Dean scrubs his hands in the bathroom until they’re pink and raw. Who knows what the hell that lady was carrying on her. When he sits back down with Sam, a cup of steaming coffee waiting for him, he lets out a small sigh of relief.

“So,” Sam drums his fingers on his own coffee mug. “You never told me you and Cas tried to adopt.”

Dean looks up over the top of his coffee cup, his brows knitting together as he demands, “What?” 

“Don’t get mad at Jess, okay?” Sam sighs. “She’s just trying to help.”

“Nah, fuck that, man,” Dean shakes his head. “I told her that in confidence.”

“Dude, A. you told her that when you were both drunk,” Sam ticks off on his fingers, “And B. she’s gonna be my wife, we tell each other everything. Don’t you and Cas tell each other everything?”

Dean purses his lips, but he can’t form a valid protest so he just sips his coffee.

“Dean, why wouldn’t you tell me?” Sam presses.

“’cause I didn’t wanna jinx it,” Dean snaps, and Sam’s eyebrows go up. With a sigh, Dean dials it back a few notches before he continues, “I didn’t wanna jinx it, but it didn’t end up happening anyway, so just fuckin’ drop it.”

He can feel phantom tears pricking behind his eyes, but nothing comes out. He’s just left with this incredible ache in his chest and no means of releasing it.

Dean stares down into his coffee and drums his fingers on the table, praying Sam will just drop it.

After a few moments, Sam speaks up, “I… I didn’t know you wanted it that badly. I never really pegged you as a family man. I always figured you and Cas were more the childless couple that travels around a lot and has weird adventures.”

“Well, I did want it, Sam,” Dean hears his voice crack, and so he looks out the window beside them. “I wanted it really fuckin’ bad and I can’t have it. What else is new?”

He rubs the heels of his hands into his eyeballs, drags his fingers up through his hair and gives a firm tug. “I just… I thought—” his throat closes and so he takes a breath and starts again. “Cas was the first person I could actually see having a family with, and he… he always thought I’d be good at it, for some reason. Y’know, I think about dad, all the shit he put us through, and I just thought… if I could save at least one kid from havin’ that kinda life, it would make it worthwhile.”

Dean pointedly does not look at Sam, even when Sam asks, “It would make what worthwhile?”

“I don’t know,” Dean sighs. “All the shit dad said and did, what he told us to do and how he told us to act. It’s like I broke away from it so I could give a kid a home they deserve. Like, not sayin’ I’m perfect or anything, but… my kid wants to belt out Goodbye Yellowbrick Road, or if they look funny or don’t fit in… I’d make sure they knew it was okay.”

He only glances at Sam long enough to see him nod.

“I get it,” his eyebrows go up. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it that way too.”

“Do you and Jess want kids?” Dean asks, trying to shift some of the focus off of him.

“Yeah,” Sam’s lips quirk at the corner, his mind far off in another world. “It’d be a couple years down the road, when I’m established in my career and everything, but yeah. Definitely something we both want.”

Dean nods, “Well, good for you. Here’s to breeders living up to their name. Just promise me you won’t name the kid something lame, like… Olive or Apple or fuckin’ Starfire Moonbeam.”

Sam laughs, though the fact that he doesn’t confirm or deny that he’ll keep that promise makes Dean wonder if he should be concerned.

“Plus,” Dean shrugs. “I still get to be with Cas. That’s the most important thing. I’d take bein’ a childless eighty-five year old queer as long as his old queer ass was sitting next to me, yellin’ at kids to keep their hoverboards off our lawn or some shit.”

Sam snorts and takes in a mouthful of coffee, mulling something or another in his mind. He’s always been like that, though: pensive.

“I could help you, y’know,” Sam says then, and Dean perks up.

“What?”

“Not like, Winchester vs. The State of Nebraska or anything,” Sam shifts, “but I’ll do some research for you, see what I can find. If anyone deserves a family, it’s you, man.”

He punctuates this with a heartfelt, puppy dog smile, and Dean has to stare out the window until he has enough control to say, “Thanks, Sammy.”

* * *

“Uncle Cas!”

Castiel has zero time to prepare himself for his niece and nephew hurdling full force into him. Bea is stretching up tall and thin, nearly at Castiel’s shoulders. Dante is smaller, filled with enough energy to hop up and hang onto Cas’ arm.

“What happened to your hair?” asks Bea when she finally pulls away.

“What happened to yours?” Castiel shoots back, indicating the birds nest atop her head.

“I just woke up,” she sticks out her tongue. “What’s your excuse?”

“Uncle Cas you have to come see my new bike!” Dante insists, just in time for Lucifer to come to the door, still in his pajamas, a cup of coffee steaming in his hand.

“Nobody’s riding anything before nine in the morning,” he says. “In the house, _tout suite_ , you little monsters.”

Dante lets go of Cas’ arm and shuffles back into the house alongside Bea.

“Little monsters?” Cas asks as he steps over the threshold.

“They’re awful,” Lucifer shuts the door and gives Cas a smile. “I love it.”

He pulls Cas into a one-armed hug, “Always good to see you, little brother.”

Lucifer’s house is the second nicest of the whole family, mom and dad’s place being the obvious first. The walls are all painted in a not-blue not-gray shade, indicating that paint swatches were indeed utilized and decisions got heated. They have hardwood floors, a whole separate sitting room that has no television, just couches, a fireplace, all draped in pricey décor. Their living room has one of the biggest flat screen televisions that he’s ever seen, and the picture is so crystal clear that for a moment Castiel actually thinks there might be something wrong with his eyes.

“You drink coffee?” asks Lucifer.

The smell of bacon and eggs and—waffles? Are those waffles?

“Cas!”

“Yes,” Cas nods. “Coffee, I drink coffee.”

“Excellent,” Lucifer nods and heads back into the kitchen. Castiel is left on his own with whatever MSNBC programming is on the TV, though the solitude does not last long. He hears footfalls and the token sounds of two spastic children tripping over each other on their way down the stairs.

“Uncle Cas!” Dante leaps out of nowhere onto the couch cushion beside him. “Look at my X-Wing fighter!”

“No, you have to see my sketchbook!” Bea argues and takes the spot on Castiel’s other side.

“Your sketch book is stupid,” Dante sticks out his tongue.

“It is not stupid!” Bea shouts back. “Uncle Cas gave me this sketchbook for Christmas so he wants to see what’s in it. You’d know that if you weren’t such a moron.”

“Mom,” Dante calls over the back of the couch. “Bea’s being mean to me!”

“I am not, you’re so immature,” Bea’s face scrunches in a frown.

“Hey, you’re both immature,” Lucifer returns to the living room, another cup of coffee in hand. “Now the two of you go help mom set the table.”

Dante and Bea glare at each other but each stand and turn toward the kitchen.

“Hey,” Lucifer snaps. “Sketchbook and X-wing stay here.”

“But—”

“ _Here_ ,” Lucifer stares pointedly at them both. Bea an Dante groan and leave their respective keepsakes on the coffee table before they trudge back to help Lilith.

“Wow,” Cas can feel his eyes about to pop out of his skull. “That was… stressful.”

“Hey, no one ever said parenthood was easy,” Lucifer leans back in his armchair. “Luckily, I’m a narcissist, so I could give a shit what they think. How are you, Castiel?”

“Well, I’m in town for a wedding, so,” Cas considers over the top of his mug. “Appropriately miffed?”

Lucifer slides into a smile and considers Cas for a few moments. Indeed fatherhood and the hard toll of an ambitious life have significantly weathered him. The lines in his face are much more distinct now, the weariness in his eyes so much more present, though his hair remains as thick as it ever had been.

“Who’s getting married?” asks Lucifer, finally.

“Dean’s brother,” Cas supplies. “Can I take off my shoes?”

“Please,” Lucifer gestures. Cas just wants to make himself comfortable and doesn’t want to get his shoes on the couch when he folds up his legs underneath himself.

“Dean’s brother,” Lucifer nods then. “How is ol’ Dean?”

“Teetering on the brink of insanity, but,” Cas shrugs. “That’s to be expected.”

Lucifer snorts into his coffee.

“You’re still working at that bar?”

“Yes,” Castiel nods. “Still working at the bar. I teach yoga a few nights a week now too.”

“Reach for the stars,” Lucifer lifts his mug in a toast. Castiel’s face must do something, because Lucifer rolls his eyes and says, “Christ, Castiel, learn how to take a joke.”

“That was not a joke and we both know it,” Cas returns. “And it’s been a very long weekend, so you’ll forgive me if I’m a bit… sensitive.”

“Sensitive,” Lucifer nods. “Yes, very sensitive little thing, aren’t you.”

“If I wanted to be patronized, I would have just had breakfast with the wedding party,” Castiel scowls.

Lucifer’s eyebrows go up, “Are people giving you shit?”

Cas nods.

“For what?” Lucifer asks. “You’re a pot-smoking, ass-poking, Deadhead yoga freak, how could anyone give you shit? You’re like the living embodiment of the Bay Area.”

Reluctantly, under Lucifer’s relentless stare, Castiel recounts the events from the day before. It’s hard to resist telling him everything once he’s ensnared you in his tractor beam gaze.

“Those fucks,” Lucifer shakes his head.

“It’s not worth being angry about,” says Cas. “Getting angry at idiots for being idiotic is like getting angry at a fish for swimming.”

“But this is something you _should_ be angry about,” Lucifer interjects. “It’s not only disrespectful, but they’re making your partner uncomfortable. You should be furious.”

“I think I tried to hit Sam last night,” Cas puts his face in his hands.

“Remind me which one that is again.”

“Dean’s brother.”

“Jesus, that little shit?” Lucifer’s eyebrows go up. “You should have.”

“I don’t think Dean would forgive me if I did,” Cas looks up again. “You should have seen him last night. I’ve seen him upset and last night… it wasn’t upset, it was just. This look on his face, like he believed everything everyone was saying about him.”

“Often I find that that indicates there’s a certain level of truth in what people are saying about you,” Lucifer replies.

“That is one of the least helpful things you have ever said,” Castiel has been scowling for so long that his eyebrows have started to ache. “You know how your problem is that you’re a total dick but you think everyone loves you because of how much you love you?”

“I wouldn’t call that a problem, but continue.”

“Dean is such a lovely person, but he thinks that everyone hates him because he… hates him,” Castiel can barely get the words out, it hurts so much to say.

“Well, that’s a very serious issue, isn’t it?” Lucifer considers. “Well, I for one believe everyone can be rehabilitated on the self-love front. Sometimes you’ve just got to steer a guy in the right direction.”

“Lucifer, Castiel,” Lilith calls. “Come eat.”

Castiel stands up, eager to leave this conversation as soon as possible. He left his weed at the hotel too, like an idiot.

“Hey,” Lucifer grabs him by the sleeve. “Do something nice for him, just the two of you. It sounds like that hasn’t really happened this weekend.”

“So, you’re a total asshole in conversation but you can give structural insight in passing?”

“I find engaging emotionally on a serious level really knocks the wind out of me,” says Lucifer. “I try to avoid it as much as possible. I invited you over for breakfast, not for you damn life story.”

He pushes by Cas with an irritated huff.

Cas smiles, “Thanks, Lucifer.”

Lucifer flips him his middle finger in return.

* * *

Sam doesn’t know where the hell they’re going, and truth be told, neither does Dean. He tried sneaking a look at jewelry stores on his phone before he and Sam left the café, but his map feature is defective (it is definitely Not His Fault) and it’s a chore getting anything out of that goddamned thing.

“Fuck, it’s like trying to find fuckin’ Diagon Alley in this bitch,” Dean scowls at his phone. It says there’s a jewelry store right in front of them, but all Dean sees is a vaguely vacant looking building.

“Maybe you should get out your frilly pink umbrella and start tapping walls,” Sam suggests.

“Don’t mock me,” Dean glares back.

Dean peers into a few windows before he concludes that this is indeed the place his map indicated.

“Dude, a jewelry store?” Sam raises his eyebrows. “You could’ve just said that, I know where a bunch of those are, we’d’ve been done by now.”

And then it hits him, “Wait, why are we at a jewelry store?”

“Because,” Dean takes a deep breath. “I’m getting a ring for Cas.”

Expectedly, Sam stops dead at this statement. Dean rolls his eyes and continues, “Let’s not with the chick flick moment, okay?”

“Are you proposing to him?” asks Sam.

“No,” Dean returns firmly. “There’s nothin’ to propose. We can’t get married, I don’t wanna get married, and from what I can tell Cas doesn’t either. I just… I wanna get him something.”

Dean peers into one of the glass display cases. Handmade rings of all sizes and shapes catch his eye, some thick, some thin, some shiny, others oxidized, all of them beautiful in their own way.

“See anything you like?” asks the man behind the counter. A silvery gray ponytail hangs down his back, matching the trimmed goatee on his face.

“All of these are handmade?” asks Dean.

“Yeah man,” the man nods. “Make ‘em all myself. Lifetime satisfaction guaranteed.”

Dean nods and continues to study the rings in the case.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Yeah,” says Dean. “I’m picking out a ring for my partner.”

“Very cool,” the ring maker grins. “How long you been together?”

“Nine and a half years,” Dean supplies automatically, eyes fixed on a ring in the case. “Can I see that one? The one with the, uh… braided lookin’ thing?”

The clerk opens the case and pulls out the ring. It’s heavy in Dean’s hand, and though it doesn’t fit on his finger, he’s sure it’ll fit on Cas’.

“We have a ton of others,” says the ring maker. “If that’s not your style.”

“Nah, it’s perfect,” Dean smiles. It’s simple, but not plain. It’ll stand out, but it’s not ostentatious.

“That one?” asks Sam.

“Yeah,” Dean closes his palm around it as the ring maker draws up a receipt. “Yeah, he’ll love it.”

He’ll love it because Dean gave it to him, because he loves Dean. Dean still wants to puke up his guts when they finally leave the shop, ring in hand (or pocket, rather), but not because he’s afraid Cas will think he’s stupid. Cas loves this kind of crap.

“Whoa, what’s with the deep breathing over there, zen garden,” Sam stops him. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’,” Dean frowns. “I’m just…”

He takes another deep breath, which is long enough a time for Sam to conclude, “You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

“Man, you proposed to Jess,” Dean snaps back. “I imagine you were shitting your pants about it. Jesus, you’re shitting your pants over marrying her later today.”

“For different reasons,” Sam reminds him.

“What the fuck ever,” Dean reaches into his pocket and clenches his hand around the ring. “It’s just… this kinda means there’s no going back. Symbolically, or whatever.”

Sam raises an eyebrow.

“Are you really getting cold feet over symbolically committing yourself to someone you’ve been committed to since dinosaurs walked the earth?”

“Hah-hah,” Dean rolls his eyes and whips out the ring. “You’re fucking hilarious. Y’know, this? It’s a little metal… circle-thing.”

“Wow.”

“And I shouldn’t be freaking out about putting a little metal circle-thing on my partner’s finger,” Dean says. “But I am, because it’s— _god_ , he’s gonna _know_ now, Sam.”

“Dude, know what?”

“That I love him!” Dean insists so loudly that a couple of people on the street stop and look at him. Dean just sighs and puts the ring back in his pocket.

“You tell him you love him all the time,” Sam cocks a brow. “It’s nothing he doesn’t already know, so don’t worry about it.”

“Man, he’s just gonna _know_ , okay?” Dean looks up at the sky. He doesn’t even know what he means, which is what makes it all the more frustrating. He could say it to Cas a thousand times in a hundred different ways, but this somehow feels like this is the only time he’ll ever mean it as much as he feels it.

“Can you just… take me back to the motel?” Dean finally sighs. “What time is this thing again?”

“My wedding,” Sam corrects, Dean suspects with the sole intention of sounding like a douche, “Starts at four-thirty.”

Dean checks his phone, “What time are you supposed to start gettin’ ready?”

“Now, I guess,” Sam shrugs. “I know you don’t want to get ready with us, but. Could you come for the pre-wedding pictures?”

Dean’s stomach leaps up into his throat.

“Nothing major,” Sam holds up his hands. “Just… Jess wanted one where we’re standing with our siblings. And I wanted one of you and me and Bobby.”

Sammy wants Dean in the wedding pictures, in a family picture. He wants him to be a part of this memory forever.

“Yeah, man,” Dean finally finds his voice. “Yeah, that’s… that’s great. Just tell me what time you want me there and you got me there.”

Sam smiles and, like the excitable Retriever he is, pummels Dean with a bone-crushing hug.

* * *

On his way back to the motel, Castiel stops at a grocery store and picks up a pack of Good n’ Plenty’s, since Dean got screwed out of them last night, and a single yellow rose. He doesn’t want to go too romantic, since Dean’s reactions to romance are tepid at best, and yellow is a pretty neutral color when it comes to flowers, Cas thinks.

When Cas gets back to the motel, he finds Dean on the bed, beer in hand, staring at whatever program happens to be on the TV. He obscures the rose from view when Dean glances over at him, only to be met with Dean leaping off the bed, like he just got caught with his hand down his pants.

“Hello,” Cas greets.

“Hey,” Dean wets his lips. His neck is flushed, his hair in minor disarray. “You were gone a long time.”

“Oh, right,” says Cas. “I went to the grocery store… are you okay?”

Dean’s forehead has broken out into a sweat, his Adam’s apple bobs wildly in his throat. So when he shifts from foot to foot and mumbles a quick, “Yeah, I’m fine,” Cas has a hard time believing him.

“Is it the ceremony?” asks Cas.

“Huh?”

“That you’re nervous about.”

“Oh… yeah,” Dean’s shoulders loosen. “Yeah, that’s… that’s it.”

Castiel narrows his eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dean groans and fists his hands in his hair. His cheeks are even redder than before, freckles now standing out even more.

“Dean, you’re scaring me.”

“Fuck, it’s not anything!” Dean exclaims, and then lets out another frustrated noise when he realizes he’s snapped. “Shit,” he sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I… I was gonna wait, but.”

His tongue darts out again and he sticks out his hand.

In the center of his palm, there’s a ring. Cas’ heart leaps up into his throat and he draws in a shaky breath.

“Why do you have a ring?” he asks.

Dean clears his throat and takes a couple of steps, until he’s close enough to Cas to grab his hand from behind his back. Naturally, it’s the hand that has a rose in it, and Dean pauses.

“Why do you have a flower?”

“It’s for you,” says Cas. “I wanted to do something nice for you, so I brought you candy and the butchest rose I could find.”

He can’t take his eyes off the ring in Dean’s palm, and tosses the candy and the rose on the bed.

“I’m beginning to think I may need to up my gift-giving game,” he says.

“Dude,” Dean smiles at him, eyes going from the gifts on the bed and up to Cas. “Did you get me Good ‘n Plenty’s?”

“I—yes,” Cas nods. He doesn’t have time to explain himself any further before Dean pushes their lips together, short and simple and sweet.

When he pulls back, Cas breaks out into a soft smile, “You’re awfully easy to please.”

Dean rests their foreheads together and pulls Cas’ left hand back up between them.

“I’m… I know I said I don’t like marriage,” he says. “And I don’t. But we’re together and we’ve been together forever and I just… you don’t have to wear it.”

Castiel’s heart pounds like he’s just finished running a marathon. Words have never been Dean’s strong suit, and emotions even less so. There’s a ring in Dean’s hand, though, and that’s… that’s big.

“Of course I want to wear it,” he says.

Relief pours out of Dean and spreads to Castiel. He’s hot under his skin, shaking as Dean slips the ring onto his finger.

There’s an intricate celtic knot pattern in the silver. He knows he’ll become used to it, but for now the weight on his finger is strange. Strange, but lovely.

Dean swallows hard and wraps his arms around Cas’ shoulders, holding him as close as he can. Cas holds him too, strokes his hair and kisses his cheeks. By the time he gets down to Dean’s lips, Cas can feel him shaking.

“Hey,” Cas pulls back, stroking Dean’s hair. “Dean, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, a smile on his face. “Yeah, I’m fine, Cas.”

“Here,” Cas guides them back to the bed and sits Dean down on it. He grabs a bottle of water out of the mini fridge and pours it into a new glass, over some melty ice. He sits down beside Dean and hands it to him.

“What’s this for?” asks Dean.

“Just take it,” says Cas. “I know you’re not going to be drinking anything that wasn’t made in a distillery tonight.”

Dean looks at him, whites of his eyes a little pink, (whether from exhaustion or from tears, Cas can’t tell) and takes the glass. As he always does with water, Dean chugs it back as though Cas is forcing some tacky, bitter cough syrup down his throat.

Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair and gives him a smile. Dean sets aside the cup, just in time for Cas to wrap him up in his arms and pull him down onto the bed. They lay on their sides, facing each other, Dean fumbling with Cas’ fingers where their hands rest between them.

They stay there until they have to get ready for the ceremony, “And we gotta look nice ‘cause I think Sam wants pictures with us.”

“Did he not before?” asks Cas as he watches Dean grab his shirt and pull it over his head.

“The fancy pants _professional_ pictures,” Dean then specifies, and Cas nods.

“Oh, well,” he stands and pulls Dean in by the belt loops. “Then we must look our best, mustn’t we.”

“Yeah, and that doesn’t involve a guest appearance from Bowlegs and Captain Sex Hair,” Dean reaches down and pats his ass.

“Really?” Cas cocks his head, “Because I hear they’re only here for a limited time.”

Dean snorts and unzips their bag. He pulls out a pair of slacks and a button down shirt, then throws them at Cas.

“Change in the bathroom,” he says.

“Why?”

“’cause I don’t need you workin’ your wiles on me, jackass,” Dean sticks out his tongue.

Cas rolls his eyes, comments, “You couldn’t avoid my wiles even if you wanted to,” and walks into the bathroom, head aloft and smirk stretching wide across his face.


	4. Part 4: Time for a Wedding!

There is something inherently oppressive about wedding attire. Dean didn't even realize he didn’t own anything "acceptable" until last week, which resulted in one of his least favorite activities: shopping. Cas may dress like he just escaped a Goodwill by the skin of his teeth, but apparently you can take the Cas out of his fancy pants, but you can't take the fancy pants out of Cas. The only redeeming part of the whole experience was that Cas have him a blowjob in the dressing room for “being so good”.

Okay, so it may have been worth it at the time, but for god's sake, Cas is making him wear khakis.

_Khakis_.

It's disgusting.

And even worse, this button-down is an offensive shade of green.

"I need, like," Dean tugs his shirt out of where Cas tucked it into his pants. "Manly green."

"I think I missed that color… is that a new shade from Crayola?" Castiel gives a cheeky grin, and laughs when Dean flips him off. He finishes rolling up his sleeves (oh, so he gets to wear a nice blue shirt and Dean is stuck looking like a leprechaun? Nice. Really nice) and combs his fingers through his perpetual bed head.

Silver glints on his left hand, and automatically Dean forgets all about looking like a prize dickhead. It’s hard to concentrate on anything but that little rush of relief and affection under his ribs.

Cas just... Took it. And Dean has had a giant, grade A doofus smile on his face ever since. He too rolled up the sleeves on his shirt so his tattoo is visible, but it just doesn't have the same weight as a ring.

Especially not with this crowd.

They trek across the parking lot, Dean’s eyes itching in spite of the Claritin he’s been tossing back like candy. Cas stops him just short of joining the wedding party and takes his cheeks in his hands. He looks Dean in the eye and gives him one of those reassuring stares.

"We can smoke after the pictures," he promises. He pulls Dean down into a kiss, one probably too explicit for the setting, but Cas' kisses are a universal antidote and you don’t just deny yourself of something that’s going to make you feel better.

It took him a long time to drag himself out of that emotional quagmire and he’s never going back.

And maybe Dean catches the Jeffs ogling out of the corner of his eye and decides to get a little more disgusting, just for kicks. He plies Cas' mouth with his tongue and lets out a little laugh when he realizes that Cas has hooked a leg around the back of his knees.

"Okay, okay," Dean laughs as they pull back, running his knuckles over Cas' cheek. "You're goddamned gorgeous all cleaned up. I ever tell you that?"

Cas smirks and presses a kiss to the end of Dean's nose.

"Once or twice," he winks. Even with his hair back to brown, he still radiates the same aura of zen. Plus, he’s chosen to adorn the rest of his outfit with a necktie peppered in peace signs, in every color of the rainbow.

Dean owns one necktie, and he forgot it.

“Here,” Cas reaches up and undoes the top two buttons on Dean’s shirt. “Now you look a little less like you rolled out of Sunday School.”

He gives Dean a quick swat on the ass and another peck on the cheek. Dean can see Sam eyeballing them, though, and takes the hint.

No more screwing around.

It’s time to be serious.

Sam’s groomsmen have already taken their photos with the rest of the wedding party. Now Jess is taking pictures with her family, her parents bracketing her and her sister. They look pleased as punch.

 

Jessica appears to be much less so. Though her hair is done up in a fancy waterfall of curls, and her makeup is, from what Dean can gather, pretty damn perfect, she still has that look in her eyes that says ‘I have never been more hungover in my life’. Somehow, her parents aren’t seeing this. Instead, her mother prods her in the back and chastises, “Unless you’re planning on coming to your senses, you’ll only be having one wedding, so you’d better look good in the pictures.”

“Fucking really?” Dean’s eyebrows fly up. Who the fuck do these people think they are?

“Dean,” Cas warns. “Remember? Everyone is just getting through it. That’s what Sam and Jess told us, that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Man, screw that,” Dean turns to Cas. “I hate weddings--”

“No,” Cas rolls his eyes. “You? Never.”

“But if you’re gonna have a fuckin’ wedding, you should have one the way you want, not the way everyone else wants.”

Dean has no idea when he became so impassioned by this.

Maybe it’s because something in his brain has already decided that Jess is family, and she’s obviously hurting. And even though he knows he’s not the same person he was at seventeen, the thought of anyone threatening his family has Dean ready to bare his teeth and kick in some skulls.

He jumps when Sam’s hand lands on his shoulder.

“You okay?” Sam asks. Dean looks at Castiel, who looks back and shrugs.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean nods. “What about you? You’re the one about to tie the knot.”

“I’m about to sweat through the pits of my tux, but, y’know,” Sam lets out a shaky breath. “Could be worse.”

“Sam, I know I don’t have to remind you, but I’m going to anyway,” says Cas. He looks back at Sam, sunlight illuminating his burnt up processed hair in a halo around his head, and states, “You don’t have to lie to us.”

Sam runs his fingers through his hair. He is sweating up a storm, which isn’t the least bit surprising. Unfortunately, it’s making him look like he just ran a marathon, when all he’s been doing is standing by, waiting for his turn to take pictures with his family.

His weird, hodgepodge family.

“All right, groom,” calls the photographer. “We’re ready for you now.”

Dean pats Sam on the back and shoots a look at Cas, who gives a little smile and a wave.

The photographer doesn’t appear to know what to do with such a small group of men. They sort of just stand there, Sam tall, gangling, and sweating, Bobby, who is more uncomfortable taking photographs than the Amish, and Dean, who looks like he’d be just as comfortable if someone stuck a sea urchin up his ass.

The photographer makes a face that indicates how lost a cause that was. Of course it was, because Dean doesn’t belong in this picture anymore than Sam and Jess belong getting married at a golf course.

Dean thinks the photographer may have caught him sneezing in the very last picture.

“Well, that was a fucking disaster,” says Dean as Cas approaches them.

“Mm, I don’t know that I’d call it a disaster,” Cas considers. “Definitely not great, but a disaster? Not so much.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Bobby nods. “Can always count on you for a little perspective.”

“Once you accept that all living things die, including the stars in the sky, you begin to realize that on a cosmic level, not much of this matters.”

 

Bobby, Dean, and Sam all stare at Cas for a good few moments before Sam can’t take it anymore and pushes past them. Hands shoved in his pockets, he stalks up the vast plane of grass and up to the clubhouse.

“Dude,” Dean turns back to Cas. “What the fuck, man?”

Cas lets out a sigh, “That was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it?”

“You fuckin’ think?!” Dean snaps.

“Don’t yell at me!” Cas clips back and fishes into his pocket for, of course, a joint and his lighter.

“Really,” Dean’s eyebrows go up. “Right out here in the open.”

“Sobriety obviously isn’t doing either of us any favors,” Cas mouths around his joint, shielding the flame of his lighter from the wind until he can get it to ignite.

His ring glints on his left hand, and Dean finds all the ire melting out of his chest. Cas takes in a long drag, holds it, and offers it to Dean before he blows it out.

Dean takes it, though doesn’t even have it between his lips when Bobby steps back.

“Aw, hell,” he grunts. “When you two’re done playin’ Cheech an’ Chong, I’ll be waiting up at the bar.”

Cas snorts as Dean takes in a lungful of pungent smoke.

More pungent than usual.

“What is this?” he asks on an exhale.

“I found a guy,” Cas explains. “He grows locally, and you know I enjoy sampling local fare.”

“Man, we’ve been here for like two days,” Dean coughs and hands the joint back. “When the hell did you have time to find this guy?”

“My powers are far beyond the realm of mortal comprehension,” Cas simply replies and takes another couple of puffs. Dean smiles and wraps his arms around Cas, bowing their heads together.

“I’m fuckin’ lucky I got you,” he hums, already starting to feel a slight buzz in his lips. It spreads rapidly through his face and down his spine, to every single part of him. His heart soars high and far above the rest of him, though; his love for this man, this moment, this life he gets to have with him, hiccups and allergies and bad pictures and all, everything meshes together in perfect harmony with the universe.

“Wow, I better quit while I’m ahead if this is what two hits does to you,” Cas smiles back, wetting his finger to put out the cherry on the end of the joint. “Feel better?”

“Way… way better,” Dean nods. “Like, I still hate it here? But I just don’t give a crap.”

Cas hums and presses their lips together in a quick, chaste kiss.

“Me neither,” he grins.

“Thank fuck your parents are dicks,” says Dean. “Even if we did get married they wouldn’t want anything to do with it.”

“Yes, lets thank god for small miracles,” Cas returns, nothing but affection in his voice. “Should we go join Bobby before we collapse right here on the grass?”

Dean lets out an incredibly incriminating giggle and sings softly and out of tune, “Let me take you down, ‘cause I’m goin’ to--”

Cas yelps with laughter as Dean picks him up and spins him, all the while not missing a beat in the rest of his rendition of Strawberry Fields.

It’s totally lame, but Dean can’t seem to be bothered by it, because Cas’ laugh is the most amazing thing

 

he’s ever heard. Even after so many years together, Dean still gets a small burst of pride in his chest whenever he evokes a laugh, a chuckle, a chortle, or just a smile out of Cas.

Yeah, he’s pretty goddamned lucky.

**oo**

Cas has never been one for sitting through weddings. While not as vehemently opposed as Dean, he does agree that they are more or less pointless. It’s an excuse to have a party, and though not a hardcore party fan himself, Castiel doesn’t believe in needing excuses to party.

He and Dean make a space for themselves in the back row of the groom’s side of seats. Bobby sits up front, right in front of where Sam and the officiant stand, and where the groomsmen will stand once they escort their bridesmaids down the aisle. Neither Dean nor Cas wants to be anywhere near any of the groomsmen, thank you very much.

“What time is it?” asks Dean. “We’ve been sitting here forever.”

There’s a lag in Cas’ response--he did not anticipate that weed being so strong--and he checks his phone.

“It’s quarter ‘til five,” Cas blinks several times, making sure that 4:45 is indeed what he is seeing. He could stare at it for hours and still not be convinced that he was seeing it properly.

“Wasn’t this supposed to start fifteen minutes ago?” Dean checks over his shoulder. “Bridesmaids are all lined up, what the fuck? Let’s get this show on the road, I got shit to do.”

“You do not,” Cas rolls his eyes. He looks up at Sam, who shifts from foot to foot, tugging at bits and pieces of his tux until he’s satisfied that he looks presentable.

Cas’ phone buzzes in his hand.

It’s a message from Jessica.

_“Tell Sam I’m so, so sorry.”_

Cas blinks at it a few times and then shoves the phone in Dean’s face, asking, “What does this say?”

Dean squints and then reads the words aloud. Hearing them must make them register in Dean’s mind, and he looks up at Cas, “Holy shit.”

A second or two later (maybe a few minutes, it’s hard to tell right now), Mr. Moore comes out of the clubhouse to address all the wedding guests out on the deck.

“We can’t find Jessica.”

There’s a collective gasp, which Cas didn’t realize existed outside of movies and TV, and then a cacophony of a hundred different conversations beginning all at once. Dean snatches Cas’ phone and hops up, jogging halfway up the aisle to meet Sam. Cas comes to and follows Dean, stopping just behind him while Sam reads over the text.

“Shit,” Sam swears. An older woman scoffs in the seat directly beside them.

“Looks like she came to her senses after all,” she says.

“Goddamned right she came to her senses,” Dean snips back. “She looked around at this dog and pony show and bailed before you people could bastardize it any more.”

“Excuse you, young man,” Mrs. Moore steps forward. “You will not address my mother in such a way.”

“Well, excuse the fuck out of you, but I haven’t heard you guys do anything but shit on my brother,” says Dean, “So yeah, gloves are off, bitch.”

Cas doesn’t leap forward soon enough to cover Dean’s mouth. This afternoon is quickly tail spinning into Jerry Springer territory, and that’s the last thing they need.

“Leave,” Mrs. Moore points in the general direction of not here. “You two have done nothing but cause

 

trouble and I will not have you spoiling any more of what was supposed to be a gorgeous event.”

“Yeah, and who’s getting married?” asks Dean. “Your daughter or you?”

“Okay, Dean,” Cas utters as calmly as he can. This entire exchange has definitely brought him careening back into reality, high now as low as it can go.

“I know where she is,” Sam says suddenly and looks up at Dean and Cas. “Can I borrow the car?”

“Only if you take us with you,” says Cas. He has to drag Dean away by the back of his shirt, while Dean grunts and growls and fights to break loose, like a chihuahua ready to take on an aggressive great dane.

Cas has to pause to fish the keys out of Dean’s pocket and hand them to Sam, all while Dean rants and raves about stupid fucking rich assholes and what the fuck is wrong with everyone.

Never having driven with Sam, Cas doesn’t know what he was expecting. He just knows that he wasn’t expecting him to drive twenty miles an hour over the speed limit, or to weave in and out of cars with eerie amounts of ease. They wind up in Palo Alto in a little more than half an hour. Sam’s phone keeps ringing, but he’s a man on a mission.

The tenth time Mr. Moore’s phone number pops up on the screen, Dean grabs the phone and answers with a hearty, “Go fuck yourself” before hanging up again.

They pull to a stop in a pretty park, along a curb that is clearly not meant for cars to stop at, and Sam immediately dashes out of the car. He shucks the outer coat of his tux in order to run faster, with Dean trailing close behind him. This leaves Cas to pick up the coat, dust it off, and try to catch up with two men who are made up mostly of leg.

They find Jess in her wedding dress, plopped down in front of a softly bubbling fountain and a wide array of flowers. Her hair is no longer done up in its wedding ‘do, instead frizzed out and angry at the attempt made to tame it.

On her lap, she has a greasy fast food bag, and in her hands, a messy burger.

She looks up when she realizes that she is no longer alone and sniffs back the tears that were obviously just pouring down her face. Sam’s shoulders sag with relief.

“Hey,” he greets tentatively.

“Hey,” Jess sniffs and takes another giant bite of her burger. She chews and swallows under the watchful eye of Sam, Dean, and Cas, then looks up at Sam to declare, “I hate this dress.”

“I know,” Sam nods.

“And I hate that stupid golf course,” she continues.

“I know,” Sam nods again.

“Ugh, and salmon color accents?” Jess wipes one of her greasy hands on the gown. “What the fuck?”

“What the fuck,” Sam agrees and sits down on the grass beside her. He wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close, nuzzling her temple before he kisses her cheek.

“Buy me a dress two sizes too small,” Jess mutters around another bite of burger. “In the worst fabric on the planet. You’d see Kate Moss’ rolls in this thing.”

Sam snorts and continues to hide his face in her hair.

“But you’ll look so elegant,” Sam teases, and Jess whips a soggy piece of lettuce at his face.

“Shut up.”

“Uh, Sam?” Dean pipes up. “Not to be that guy but how the hell did you know she was here?”

“This is where we were originally going to get married,” Jess says through a full mouth.

 

“It’s where we had our first date,” Sam looks up, shielding his eyes against the sun. “I proposed to her on that bench right behind you.”

“Christ,” Dean rolls his eyes. “You fuckin’ saps.”

“I don’t want to go back,” Jess shakes her head.

“Me neither,” Sam agrees. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know that there’s gonna be a whole lot to go back to. They all think you came to your senses.”

Jess lets out a laugh, “Yeah, I did. Life’s too short for fancy weddings and crash dieting.”

“Amen, sister,” Dean crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m sorry I let this get so out of hand,” Jess looks down at the grease stains on her dress. “You were right.”

“Hey, I didn’t anticipate this,” Sam points out. “We both got thrown under the bus.”

“No kidding,” Jess nods and looks at Sam. “So what do we do?”

Sam lets out a breath and ponders, concentration etched into his face.

“Well, I don’t think we’re allowed back at the wedding,” says Dean.

Cas finally finds his voice and says, “As if we’d want to go back anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m with you on that,” Sam agrees. “So… maybe we don’t get married today.”

Jess nods, considering this statement before agreeing, “I think that’s for the best.”

“Hey, man,” Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “Say the word and we’re in Vegas by tomorrow morning.”

“Dean,” Sam warns, and Dean mimes zipping his lips.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a courthouse ceremony,” says Sam.

“Oh, god,” Jess lets out a groan of relief. “Yes, that sounds amazing.”

And even though she has a greasy face and undoubtedly tastes like burger, Sam kisses her on the mouth anyway. Dean averts his eyes by looking back at Cas.

Every line, every freckle, every blink of his eyes declares, “This is disgusting.”

Cas snorts and gives a fond shake of his head.

“You wanna go home and get changed?” Sam asks.

Jess nods.

Sam looks to Cas and Dean, “Would you guys mind taking us back to our place?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Dean gives Sam a calm, reassuring smile.

“And, uh,” Sam pushes himself to his feet. “Letting everyone back at the wedding know? We’ll deal with her parents, but. Yeah.”

“We can do that,” Cas nods. “Anything you need.”

Sam helps Jess to her feet and grabs the burger bag from her lap.

“Does that involve making a cheesecake run?” she asks.

“Hell yeah, it does,” Dean smiles. “C’mon, car’s about to turn back into a pumpkin, princess.”

Sam cocks his head, a wry, amused smile spreading on his face. Dean rolls his eyes, “Dude, I got a little

 

sister, okay? You don’t really come outta that without learning a thing or two about Disney princesses, no matter how lame they are.”

“Says the man who cried at the end of Princess and the Frog,” Cas mutters.

Dean socks him on the arm.

**oo**

It’s no surprise that people react adversely to the news that there will be no wedding today. Castiel thinks he sees Mr. Moore’s head spin all the way around like Linda Blair, and is pretty sure that Mrs. Moore has an aneurysm when her daughter informs her, over the phone, that she will not be allowed to attend the wedding when it ends up happening.

“You heard right,” Dean calls to the lingering guests. “Nothin’ to see here, move along. We gotta strike this shit and get the cake back to the bride and groom.”

“Lovely, Dean,” Cas rolls his eyes and plucks one of the salmon ribbons off of the white fold-up chairs. He ties the ribbon around his forehead. Dean catches him and snorts.

“Dork.”

“Are they okay?”

It’s Brady. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking tentatively at them. Dean raises his eyebrows, not expecting to be addressed so neutrally.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean nods. “Yeah, they’re fine.”

Jane stands by, also worried, salmon pink dress hanging off her boxy frame as she fiddles with the petals on her bouquet.

“I’m sorry,” she tells both Dean and Cas. “For all of this. Our mom and dad mean well, but…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, possibly because she realizes just how untrue whatever she was going to utter was.

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing to us,” says Castiel. Jane shrugs.

“Do you think they’d let me see them?” she asks.

Dean answers before Cas can even speculate, “Of course they will, kid. In fact, I think they’d appreciate the hell out of it if you brought them their cake.”

Brady lingers, hoping for more of a concrete answer, but seems to understand when neither Dean nor Cas elaborates. He fishes around in his pocket and holds out a ring--a simple, small-yet-elegant diamond set in gold.

“I guess I don’t need to carry this anymore,” he says. “Just--tell Sam if he needs anything, I’m here.”

Dean nods, “Yeah, man. Thanks.”

Jane too pulls Sam’s ring off of the ribbon on her bouquet and hands it to Dean, then lays a hand on his bicep.

“I don’t care what our parents say,” she says. “I’m glad you guys are part of her family now. And my family too, I suppose. You guys are awesome.”

She throws her arms around Dean’s neck in a hug, and then does the same for Cas before she heads into the clubhouse.

When no one is left standing around except for the Jeffs, Dean hollers, “Yo, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbfuck, get the lead out.”

“Just charming,” says Geoff. “Your rapier wit never ceases to amaze.”

“Hey!” Dean snaps. “You better get moving before I sock you in your smug fuckin’ faces.”

 

“Gay thugs,” Geoff tuts. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Cas hears Dean exhale sharply, but even though his hands ball up into fists, he doesn’t move to act on his impulses.

Unfortunately, Cas cannot say the same for himself.

“Cas, Jesus!” Dean shouts half a second after Castiel’s fist collides with Geoff’s face the first time. Geoff loses his and stumbles back, and some primal part of Cas’ brain takes over, the part that compels him to protect what he loves and destroy what threatens it.

This is how a thirty-one year old man ends up beating this pissy little fuck into the ground. It takes an inordinate amount of strength to reel Cas back. His hand aches, as do the spots where Geoff attempted to hit back.

He is vaguely aware that Geoff managed to split his lip, that Jeff is now shouting at Dean, but he can’t hear anything over the roar of rage in his ears. Barely twenty-four hours since meeting this guy, and that’s all Castiel has wanted to do.

Anyone who hurts Dean deserves so much worse.

He struggles to get loose, to get back at Geoff, to give him everything he has coming to him, but soon there’s an icy blast of water to his face and Castiel realizes that they are no longer outside, but in a bathroom.

A bathroom with showers.

Why are there showers?

Right. Golf course. Changing rooms. Showers.

Castiel’s surroundings come into view, including the blank white tile walls and and Dean’s now sodden pants and shoes. A look up and, okay, he’s on the floor with Dean standing above him, directing the shower head directly onto his head.

“Okay, okay!” Cas sputters through the water, reaching up to find the knob and switch it off.

“Dude,” Dean crouches beside him. “‘the fuck was that?”

Cas makes sure he can wiggle all of his fingers.

“I was tired of his shit,” is all he says.

“Hey, me too, but you don’t see me caving in his skull,” Dean replies, running his thumb over Cas’ fat lip.

He hisses, “That stings.”

“Yeah, well, shit happens when you go mongoloid, Zen Master,” Dean strokes the backs of his knuckles over Cas’ cheek. “You okay?”

Cas nods and sits up. “Are you?”

“Eh, I’m okay,” Dean sighs. “We should probably skip town before they try to press assault charges, though.”

Cas snorts, “Wimps. I’ve broken up worse fights at The Roadhouse with one hand holding a tray.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone is in the bar life,” says Dean. He helps Cas up to his feet and brings their lips together. It stings Cas’ open wound, but he wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and drops his mouth open when they deepen their kiss.

Then Dean shifts and Cas can feel him pressing into his hip, half-hard. Cas can’t help his smile, and he pulls back.

“Did watching me throw a few punches give you a boner?” Cas asks, all smiles. Dean’s cheeks tinge pink and Cas brings him into another kiss. He guides them back until Dean is against the tile wall, sighing softly as Cas rejoins their mouths.

A whimper when Cas reaches between them and squeezes the rapidly growing erection in Dean’s pants.

“I never did get you back for this morning, did I?” he murmurs. Dean lets out a soft moan and rolls his hips into Cas’ hand.

“Got lube?” he huffs, and Cas grins.

“Why, want me to fuck you?” he latches onto Dean’s neck and bites a hickey into his skin.

Dean moans and lets out a heated, “Yeah.”

Cas rolls their hips together, grinning against Dean as he sighs into him.

“Se-seriously,” Dean pants. “You got lube?”

“Of course I have lube,” Cas nips Dean’s lower lip. “Who do you think I am?”

“Sexiest man alive?” Dean offers, cheeks going darker and darker. Cas laughs against him, peppering kisses all up his neck and over his jaw, biting his chin and soothing it with his tongue until they’re both laughing against each other.

There is absolutely no guarantee that they’re alone, or that they will be alone for as long as they need. It sends a jolt of electricity up Cas’ spine, and has Dean pushing up even more insistently.

Cas works at Dean’s pants and shimmies them down his hips, until they and his underwear lay in a soggy pile at their feet. Dean’s erection curves upward, begging for Cas’ hand or his mouth or, for the love of god, something.

“You’re so hard for me already,” Cas mumbles against his jaw. He takes Dean in his hand and smiles at the slight intake of breath. “You want my cock that badly?”

“Hi, Dean Winchester, nice to meet you,” Dean snipes back, and yelps when Cas squeezes him hard. And yet there’s nothing but affection on his face when he breathes, “You fucker.”

Cas hums and pushes his hands up Dean’s shirt, except he’s also got an undershirt on under his button-up and that is just too many layers. He tries to be patient, tries to undo every button, but his base instinct wins out and he ends up ripping through the last four buttons.

Plastic patters against the wet tile, and Dean, spaz that he is, smacks his head against the wall when he laughs a little too hard.

“You just ruined the shirt you forced me to get,” he points out.

“Fuck the shirt,” Cas growls and pulls the tiny tube of sampler lube they got at that shop in San Francisco the other night. He squeezes a good amount onto his fingers and reaches back, sliding a single finger inside him, and then a second.

“You’re suspiciously easy,” Cas eyes him warily. “Dean Winchester, were you playing with our new toy without me?”

Dean opens his eyes just long enough to give a smile and a bounce of his eyebrows.

Cas slams his fingers against Dean’s prostate in retaliation, grinning when Dean reaches down and starts stroking himself. He massages into that one spot and watches Dean come undone against him. Dean constricts around his fingers, his hand flying over his cock at lightning speed.

He throws his head back and shoots over his hand and onto his abdomen, mouth open and eyebrows pinched in a silent shout.

Cas’ dick throbs insistently in his slacks as he lets Dean come down. When Dean’s eyes open back up, when his breathing evens out, Cas gives him a searing kiss.

“Fuck, I did not mean to do that,” Dean finally breathes when they pull apart, watching Cas intently as he pulls himself out of his pants.

“That’s all right,” Cas says. He drizzles lube over his cock, hard and so ready to be inside Dean. He hooks an arm under Dean’s thigh and hoists him halfway up.

The sound Dean makes when Cas slides into him is absolutely delicious. Once situated, Dean wraps his legs around Cas’ waist and lets himself get pinned against the wall.

“God, we are so fucked if some saggy old dude comes in here and decides to wash his saggy old balls.”

“Really?” Cas looks up at him, dick threatening to go soft before he can even get going. “That had to be said by you right at this moment?”

Dean cackles, only to be silenced moments later by the brutal pace Cas sets. Yes, it’s partly to shut him up, but mostly Dean has a point--they need to finish before anyone can walk in on them. Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ neck and holds on for the ride.

He makes those sweet little sounds right in Cas’ ear, the ones that make Cas ache with need.

“You fuck me so good, baby,” Dean breathes. He grabs one of Cas’ hands and moves it from his ass to his cock. “You feel me getting hard again? Just for you.”

Dean presses their lips together and starts moving Cas’ hand, whimpering under the overstimulation. Cas dips forward and sucks another hickey into his neck.

A steady string of swears echoes off of the tile walls as Cas picks up their pace even more.

“Got one more?” he pants against Dean.

“Hah,” Dean laughs and tightens around Cas. “In your fuckin’ dreams.”

Then he fists his hands in Cas’ hair and yanks Cas’ head back. He kisses him again, this time to swallow the sharp cry that escapes Cas’ throat as he slams his orgasm up into Dean.

Cas holds onto Dean tight, and vice versa. Dean’s fingers are still tangled in his hair, his kisses calming down from frantic and feral to soft and sweet.

“Good?” Dean asks, which Cas answers with a nod and a lazy, sated kiss.

It’s a few moments before they move again, and it’s accompanied by a long groan from Dean.

“Fuck, I am not in my twenties anymore,” he straightens out the cricks in his back.

“You are thirty, Dean,” Cas reminds him, and in a stunning display of maturity, Dean sticks out his tongue.

Of course, now he has to ignore the soreness in his thighs, just to make a point. They’re older, but they’re not that old.

It’s not until they redress in their sopping clothes that Cas realizes, “We’re busted.”

“So busted,” Dean chuckles and threads his fingers through Cas’. “No one I’d rather be busted with, baby.”

Cas grins.

Ain’t that the truth.

**oo**

Dean doesn’t care if they’re not that old, he wakes up in the middle of the night to take a piss, sore as hell and--fuck it--ready for a hot bath.

It’s only when he walks back to the bed that he realizes that it is not the middle of the night, but in fact nearly nine o’clock, and that Cas is missing.

He groans when he opens up the thick curtains (how do pieces of cloth block out so much light?) and grabs his phone off of the desk. While in ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode, he received a text from Cas that reads, _‘Helping  Jane find a dress for this afternoon. I’ll meet you at city hall.’_

_‘fine but youre missing out on the bath im about to take’_

Cas puts the kibosh on this not ten seconds after Dean hits send, because he woke up way too late and Sam and Jess wanted to be at city hall by eleven.

Dean doesn’t know what to wear to a city hall wedding, but he soon discovers that it probably doesn’t include hole-ridden blue jeans and his KISS t-shirt that, admittedly, has seen better days. He can’t be held responsible: he packed for a weekend and that’s all he brought. Today, he was supposed to be in the car, driving back home.

Instead, he’s straightening out Sam’s tie while they stand in front of their city hall officiant, waiting for Cas to get back with Jess and Jane.

Sam’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and Dean glances up at him. His jaw clenches and unclenches, his nostrils flare and he won’t stop blinking.

“Dude, chill,” Dean pats him on the shoulder. “This already feels a lot better than yesterday. You get this done, over with, and then you got a partner. No fuss, no muss.”

Sam nods.

“Have I ever thanked you?” he asks then.

Dean’s chest constricts, and he reminds himself to tread cautiously.

“For what?”

“Everything,” says Sam. “For looking after me when we were kids. For looking after me now.”

Dean takes a breath, offering Sam a smile, “Hey, I’m your big brother. It’s my job.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam insists. “Not the way you did. I… I get why you left. I’m just really glad I got you back.”

He punctuates this with a lung-crushing, black-out inducing hug. Dean stands stalk-still for a moment before he gets it in his head that, right, he gets to hug back now. He wraps his arms around Sam and gives him a few pats on the back.

“I’m glad I got you back too, Sammy,” he says around the lump in his throat.

They pull back from one another, and hopefully they can get past this ultimately sappy moment without being too awkward or weird about it.

Bobby, of course, is right beside them and just witnessed the whole thing. That makes Dean want to run for cover, but he reminds himself that it’s Bobby. Bobby and Sam are his family, just the same as Ellen and Jo, as Gabe and Charlie, as Cas, and now Jess too.

And families love each other, even when you turn into the cheesiest of the cheeseballs.

The door at the end of the room busts open and Jess rushes in, tailed closely by Jane and Cas. Jess wears a short, lacy white dress, a light blue scarf around her waist that matches the color of Jane’s dress almost exactly.

“Sorry,” Jess declares. “My bouquet from yesterday was sort of dead, so we had to make a stop.”

“Grocery store flowers on her wedding day,” Cas declares. “Every little girl’s dream.”

Jess rolls her eyes and smacks him on the arm.

A look at him, Sam, and Bobby, and Dean determines that he is indeed on the dowdy side of the party.

For fuck’s sake, Sam is wearing his stupid fucking tennis shoes to his wedding. Bobby looks as he always does: same cap, same vest, same grungy work boots.

And there’s Cas, in jeans and Birkenstocks, wearing a t-shirt that he most definitely stole from Dean a while and never bothered to give back.

It’s all actually kind of perfect.

Jess comes to stand in front of Sam, a grin a mile wide on her face.

“Are we all here?” asks the officiant, a round-faced woman with glasses and a coif of gray hair atop her head.

“Yeah, we’re all here,” says Sam.

“All right,” the officiant nods. “Then let’s begin.”

It’s a short affair. When they say ‘ceremonies every half an hour’, they mean it. Sam and Jess’ starts a little after eleven-thirty and it’s done just before noon.

Dean even gets to sign the certificate as a witness.

Legally, for all of eternity (or, until aliens attack and blow up the planet), Dean was a witness at his little brother’s wedding.

And that’s pretty cool.

“Are you guys sure you can’t stay for just a little while longer?” asks Jess as they stop at the Impala. Dean and Cas look at each other, and thankfully Cas takes the heat.

“We have a long drive,” he says. “And I was promised a stop at a pot shop in Denver.”

“Ah,” Sam laughs. “Well, we can’t keep you from that.”

“Consider it my land of milk and honey,” Cas grins back. Jess is the first to hug him, prompting everyone to make their rounds of goodbyes before Cas and Dean take off.

When Sam envelops Dean in another hug, Dean says, “Go easy on the honeymoon, big guy.”

Sam jabs him in the ribs.

Dean and Cas are only on the road for an hour and a half before Dean’s stomach lets out a loud growl of protest.

“You down to stop for some lunch?” he asks, only to realize that Cas has dozed off. Dean smiles and shakes his head, and attempts to navigate his way through Sacramento on his own.

It should not be this hard to find a diner that’ll serve him a damn burger.

When he finally picks a diner and parks, Dean reaches over and jostles Cas out of sleep. Cas grunts.

“Hey, baby,” Dean strokes the hair on his temple. “I’m starving. You want some lunch?”

Cas perks up at that and looks around, eyes finally settling on the diner in front of them.

“I need coffee,” is all he says, and Dean grins.

“I bet they’ve got that,” he replies and kisses Cas on the cheek.

It’s a small establishment, not much bigger than Moseley’s back home. They sit up at the counter and each order a cheeseburger, Dean’s double and with bacon, Cas’ drowning in grilled onions and swiss cheese, with a side of onion rings instead of fries.

There are some things Dean will just never understand about this man.

They remain mostly silent, just watching the customers around the diner until Cas is on his second cup of coffee.

“What a long weekend,” he finally mutters.

“No shit,” Dean props his chin on his hand and looks over at Cas. “But hey, you were right. It’s over.”

Cas hums and gives Dean this look that makes his stomach bottom out.

“I gotta take a leak,” he decides and stands. “Don’t steal any of my fuckin’ fries if the food comes.”

“You’re so stingy,” Cas calls after him.

“If you want fries, order fries,” Dean replies and flips him off when Cas makes a mocking face back at him.

As predicted, by the time he’s done in the bathroom, hands washed and all, their food has arrived. Dean sits back down, expecting Cas to look over at him with fries in his mouth, but Cas is oddly focused on stuffing his face with his burger.

Weird.

Dean looks down, ready to tuck into his food, when he notices a small bundle of french fries held together with.

Holy fuck.

That’s a ring.

His heart starts racing, nerves jostle and send his limbs quaking.

“What’s this?” he asks, despite knowing just want the hell it is. Cas bites his lower lip and glances over at Dean.

“You really think Jess’ sister didn’t have a dress for today?” he asks.

Dean fumbles with the fries, eventually just mashing them to get the ring off of them. It’s a plain, thick black band, and Cas explains, “It’s titanium. I thought about getting you something that looked like mine, but I saw that and thought you’d like it better than something shiny.”

The ring slides easily onto Dean’s finger, a little greasy and crumby from being in his food, but shit.

Shit, it’s perfect.

Cas’ face pulls up in smile when Dean looks back at him. Fuck being in public, Dean lunges forward and kisses the lips right off of Cas’ face. Even if he could hear the woman beside them clear her throat, or the mother at a nearby table utter, “Oh, my” he wouldn’t care.

He and Cas belong with one another, no longer available for individual sale. Something they’ve known for a long time between the two of them, something that’s as real as it’s ever been, but the weight on Dean’s finger makes it a little more tangible.

And now everyone else gets to know it too.

 


End file.
